


I, The Paradox

by DrowningByDegrees, Hopeless--Geek (wuzzy90), Riakomai



Series: I, The Paradox Verse [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, M/M, Paradox, Read the author's note for an explanation of the choose not to warn, Self-cest, Slow Burn, Stucky Big Bang 2017, Threesome, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 02:06:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 80,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11841711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningByDegrees/pseuds/DrowningByDegrees, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wuzzy90/pseuds/Hopeless--Geek, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riakomai/pseuds/Riakomai
Summary: Sharing a life with a recovering Winter Soldier means never quite escaping what Steve sees as his biggest failure. When one of Tony’s machines functions differently than advertised, Steve is given an unexpected opportunity to change the past. He’s spent so much time mapping out all the ways he could have saved Bucky from falling, but in the moment, he never stops to consider whether or not he should.Actions have consequences, and meddling with time has more drastic ones than most. Steve wakes with two divergent timelines in his head, and two very different versions of Bucky in his bed. With the machine broken, and no idea whether their situation is permanent, this new arrangement promises to be an adjustment for all three of them. Only, that may not be the worst of their problems...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _There wasn't really a good way to tag for this succinctly, so I thought I'd address it here instead. There's a sequel coming that rectifies things, but the tail end of this story is very much on the bitter side of bittersweet. This story stands entirely on it's own, but if you prefer entirely happy endings, you may wish to wait for the follow-up. You can keep an eye out for Things That Bloom In Empty Spaces, or come poke at me on Tumblr (there's a link in the footnotes) and I'll let you know when it's posted._
> 
>  
> 
> I feel like I have a lot of thank you's to dole out <3
> 
> Thank you so much to [Riakomai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Riakomai/pseuds/Riakomai) and [Hopeless--Geek](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wuzzy90/pseuds/Hopeless--Geek) for putting your incredible artistic skills to work bringing this story to life. 
> 
> Thank you to my incredible betas, [Paalme](http://archiveofourown.org/users/paalme/gifts) , and [Mari_Knickerbocker](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mari_Knickerbocker). I especially want to thank [jinlinli](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jinlinli/pseuds/jinlinli), who not only betaed this fic, but was hugely involved in helping me craft the story line itself. I'm not sure I could have done it without you. 
> 
> Thank you, OG. You all are the _very_ best thing to come out of this event. If there were no fics and no art, it still would have been worth it. Thank you also, SBB slack for lots of friendship, cheerleading, and commiseration. It's been fun!  <3 Also, thank you SBB mods, for all you do!

“Time travel? Honestly, Tony. Of all the reckless things…” Steve peered down at the machine Stark was showing off. It seemed so innocuous, a chrome ball with a cord attached that looked like a set of earbuds at first glance, with sensors attached to the ends. 

“Don’t get your spandex in a bunch. It’s not time travel,” Tony protested, flipping a switch on the device. A light within it glowed, and the whole thing whirred softly. “Not exactly.”

“What, _exactly_ , is it then?” Steve demanded. Of all the foolhardy ideas Tony had had, Steve especially disliked this one. 

“Think of it more like virtual reality for memories. Only marginally less virtual. You can travel back to any moment along your own timeline. You’ll just be a passenger, and the version of you in that moment will never know you were there.” Tony poured himself a drink, preening a little at what he must have thought was a clever explanation. 

Steve frowned, not sure he liked where this was going. He definitely didn’t like the way Tony’s gaze drifted to Bucky, who hadn’t said a word since they’d gotten here. Notably, no one else had been invited to this little show and tell. Already certain he was going to be unhappy with the answer, Steve asked anyway. “Why? If you can’t change it, what’s the point?”

“Why? Why not?” Tony asked between sips of whiskey. “Go see an old girlfriend. Confirm a witness’s testimony in a crime. Double check the recipe someone told you for pancakes. The possibilities are endless.”

Somewhere along the way, Tony had made his way closer. Before Steve could say anything, Bucky spoke up from behind him. “What possibility did you have in mind?”

“Red October! I am so glad you asked.” Tony casually laid his hand on Bucky’s metal shoulder. Bucky looked at it, but didn’t pull away. “That’s where you come in.”

“Tony, no.” Steve butted in. He had a feeling he knew exactly where he was going, and he was having none of it. 

“You don’t even know what he’s suggesting.” Bucky’s brows furrowed as he glanced over at Steve. It was all the acknowledgment Bucky gave him before focusing on Tony, who had moved on, circling the machine “What _are_ you suggesting?”

Tony smiled from behind the tumbler he held up to his lips. “The way I see it, no one has spent more time with our octopals than you have.” 

Bucky bristled ever so slightly, tension bunching in his right shoulder. Steve might not have even noticed if he hadn’t known his lover quite so well. “My memory came back.”

“Oh good, so _end_ of movie RoboCop. That helps.” Tony finished off his drink and set the glass aside. “That’s where you need to be for this to work. You have to remember a time to be able to go back to it, but even if they hadn’t been scrambling your head for funsies, details get lost. This way, we could get them back.”

Steve almost cut in. He’d seen the fallout of what Hydra put Bucky through. It was heartless to ask Bucky to relive a moment of it. Bucky had gone stiff at Steve’s side, but answered before he had the chance. “What do I need to do?”

“Bucky. You don’t have to do this. You got out of there. No one expects you to volunteer to go back.” Steve took a step, putting himself part way between Bucky and Tony. 

“I do.” Tony held up his hand, a faint smirk pulling at his mouth. “No one has more reason to want to take these guys down.”

“It’s dangerous,” Steve snarled. He’d had a front row seat to the way Bucky’s recovery limped along, and he’d be damned if he let anyone take advantage. 

Tony snorted. “Are you his keeper, now? It’s not dangerous. It’s like watching a movie. He already knows how it ends.”

Bucky cleared his throat, silencing the argument. When Steve looked over, he’d crossed his arms, looking utterly unimpressed with them both. “Were either of you planning to ask _me_ what I want to do, or are you just going to bicker about it until we all get bored and go home?”

“You don’t have to do this, Buck,” Steve tried again. He didn’t relish the impact he imagined this would have on his lover in the slightest. 

“No. I don’t, and that’s _wonderful_.” Bucky reached to squeeze Steve’s shoulder, leaning subtly closer. “It’s my choice, and _no_ one else gets to make it for me.”

Bucky was right, much as Steve was loathe to admit it. He clenched his jaw, torn between the urge to protect Bucky and the knowledge that he had to respect his partner’s autonomy. “It just seems like such a long shot. I don’t want you to hurt for no reason.”

“Are you two always like this, or are you only shmoopy when there’s an audience?” Tony drawled, reminding them both he was there. “Asking for a friend.”

Bucky made a face and let go of Steve. “I’ll do it.”

“Wait.” Steve braced himself against the sour look Bucky shot at him. “Let me try it first.”

“Steve. Come _on_. Don’t be stupid. I’m the one who might have something useful,” Bucky murmured, brows furrowing in an obvious effort to suss out Steve’s motive. 

“Yes, and it’s likely to be an ordeal. Better that I have a frame of reference.” It was a half truth. Steve knew all too well the horrors Hydra had put Bucky through, and there was no telling how real this would be. Would he truly just be using his past self’s eyes and ears like an entertainment system, or would be be all enveloping. The thought of Bucky shivering his way through another thaw out, helpless but to go along with whatever the Winter Soldier had been told to do turned Steve’s stomach. What if they tortured him? What if he accidentally went somewhere where they scrambled his mind again? He couldn’t bring himself to say out loud what he was afraid of, but Bucky’s expression softened. 

“A hundred years old and you’re still an idiot.” Bucky nudged against Steve’s shoulder with his own, but he didn’t protest. 

Tony held up the sensors. “Is one of you going to put these on? Much as I’m enjoying the live action rom-com, I have a dinner date.”

Steve had said his piece. He’d defer to Bucky, even if the answer was something he didn’t like. Half expecting Bucky to insist on jumping into this, he braced himself as he turned his head. Only, Bucky hadn’t moved an inch. He rolled his eyes and waved Steve off, grumbling good naturedly at Tony. “If I don’t let him do this, he’s just going to follow me around the apartment afterwards, pestering me about whether I’m okay.”

“I don’t do that,” Steve protested as Tony handed him the censors, directing him to press them to his temples. 

“I hope you realize you’re never hearing the end of this.” If Tony said anything else, it was lost in the spark of sensation when Steve pressed the second sensor to his skin. Energy coursed through him, almost like he could feel his synapses firing. Electricity crackled down the length of his body, leaving his limbs tingling slightly. 

The way Tony was snapping in front of his face, it seemed he had been trying to get Steve’s attention for a moment. Shaking himself, he tried to focus on Tony instead of how far he suddenly felt from his body. It was almost like his mind was a separate thing, aware of the way his skin and bones felt, but not a part of them. “What?”

“Oh good. You're still with us. Just remember, wherever you go has already happened.Whatever you said, whatever you did, so pick somewhere good.” Tony gave the machine a last once over and shoved a chair over to Steve for him to sit down. “All you have to do now is close your eyes and focus on a time you want to go back to.”

“How do I get back?” Steve asked. He’d already settled on a test, the worst memory he could think of. If he could make it through where he was going, he might understand a fraction of what Bucky was signing up for. 

“The same way you got there. It’s brilliant, really. The power source uses the sensors to... You know what? It’s a lot of big words. Think your way home and the machine will do the rest. Just go, while one of us in this room is still young.” 

Steve had misgivings, but no time to entertain them. If he didn't go, Bucky would. If there were problems, better that he shoulder them than let them fall unexpectedly on his lover. Taking a slow, measured breath, Steve closed his eyes and focused. 

Nothing happened. For a few long, tense seconds, Steve swore he could hear his heartbeat in his ears, and the soft cadence of Bucky’s voice somewhere on the other side of the room. Bucky. That was why he was doing this, because if Bucky was willing to go back to the worse _decades_ of his life, Steve could suffer through one nightmare.

Whatever Bucky had asked, Tony seemed to be answering with the telltale lilt of a flippant response. Steve stopped listening after that, redoubling his efforts. It wasn’t enough, maybe, to think back to the moment his world was upended. Maybe what he needed was the rattle of the wheels on frozen miles of train track, and the frigid air that reached right through the fabric of his uniform. Maybe, it was the rapid firing of gunshots at his back, Bucky on the other side of a closed door. 

Through the glass, Steve could see Bucky, his handgun clicking uselessly as he pulled the trigger. The air whistled around them as the train clattered on through the mountains, but Steve’s focus was entirely on Bucky. Bucky, who was pressed up against the wall of the train, lips parted faintly on quick, shallow breaths. The door opened, though Steve didn’t notice that he’d pressed the release. Bucky looked over immediately, and Steve was dimly aware that he’d tossed over a replacement weapon. 

Tossed. Past tense. Decades and decades past tense.This was ancient history now, even as the seconds ticked forward to the worst moments of his life. He already knew how the story ended, but his heart simply wouldn’t take again. Here, in his past self’s body, he could feel himself moving forward, shoving a bin at the soldier Bucky had been trapped with. Steve desperately wanted to turn back and look, to warn Bucky, but his lips and throat wouldn’t respond. 

The gun went off behind him and the soldier went down. In fifteen seconds, Bucky would fall. Steve had spent more time than he could account for thinking about all the ways to stop this, but now that he was here, he was helpless. His heart clenched as Bucky came to stand beside him. “I had him on the ropes.”

“I know you did.” His mouth made words, and Steve caught the faint clunk of a footstep he hadn’t heard the first time. It made no difference now, because the weapon that blew the hole Bucky had fallen through was already powering up. It’s high pitched whine made his past self finally turn to look, and it was already too late. 

Please. _No_. Steve screamed in his own head, watching the scene play out like a horror movie. He was about to push Bucky the wrong way, condemning the person he cherished most to decades of guilt and misery. He could feel his shield come up, and he strained against the confines that hemmed him in. Panic clutched at his throat, though the body he was in didn’t seem to notice. _How could he not notice?_ Frantically, Steve struggled to break through, even for a second. All he needed was a second to fix this. 

“Get down!” He heard himself shout, just as the weapon fired at them. Steve gave one final, desperate push as he felt his hand connect with Bucky’s uniform for what would be the last time. It _couldn’t_ be the last time. 

The movement stuttered, just a little, and Bucky stayed on his feet at Steve’s back. When the laser connected with Steve’s it sent them both flying. They landed in a heap on the far side of the train, nowhere near where he remembered Bucky being at this point. Bucky lay underneath Steve, his eyelids fluttering a little. 

Had he done that? Responding to the fact that the gun was powering up again, Steve tried to move. It would do no good to save Bucky from falling if they both died here. His body was running off without him again, less stunned this time, since he’d fallen differently. He watched through eyes that were and weren’t his as he leapt for the shield, flinging it the length of the compartment. Their attacker was sent flying, far out of sight in the next car. 

“Bucky!” There was his voice again, shouting to be heard above the clattering of the train. The air rushed past, deafening now that there was a hole in the side of their car. Steve saw himself drawing closer, head turning to glance at the other car again. He didn’t want to be looking at the other car. He wanted to see Bucky, who was somehow still whole. 

Something gave in his chest when his past self finally turned back to look. Bucky lay on the floor of the train, groaning as he pressed the heel of his hand to his head. There’d be a nasty bump later, Steve was sure, but Bucky was alive, and all the rest was just details.

“You’re heavy. You know that?” Bucky complained, but there was a smile curling on his lips. Steve watched his own hand reach out, and he basked in the warmth of the fingers of Bucky’s left hand curling in his. The body he was residing in wouldn’t realize how significant that was, but he did.

“You alright?” He lingered longer than necessary, and though Steve couldn’t see into his own mind from back then, he understood all too well. Bucky seemed as oblivious as he always was, but he’d hit his head awfully hard. 

“I’m standing, aren’t I?” Bucky flashed Steve a cheeky smile that broke his heart. It was a smile he hadn’t seen in seventy years. “C’mon. We’re not done yet.”

No. No, Steve supposed they weren’t. Zola was still somewhere on the train, but the immediate threat to Bucky’s future was passed, and the world felt a little bit wobbly. Steve was unsettled, but he felt a chuckle work its way loose from his throat. It was someone else’s laugh, some other him who didn’t begin to know the gravity of today. 

He moved, _they_ moved, creeping car to car in search of their target. Steve knew how this part ended already. They’d find Zola’s car, and Gabe would already have the weasel of a man at gunpoint. It was hard to care when he was still stuck on the idea that it had already happened. He wanted to watch Bucky. He wanted to revel in the fact that Bucky was still _there_ , only his head wouldn’t turn, and his body kept pressing forward, one determined step at a time. His mind was on Bucky, but his counterpart was only focused on the mission.

Well, the important part was that Bucky was alive, in one piece. Steve hadn’t expected that. The high of a hope he hadn’t had before crept in, and every glimpse of dark hair and a blue uniform eased something in Steve’s chest. He could go home knowing this time things were going to be different. 

Only, different _how_? The elation of Bucky’s freedom from Hydra was snuffed out like a bucket of water over a sputtering candle. What would that mean for him? What would it mean for _them_? The need to know gnawed at him as he sat in the prison of his own body, carried forward by some other version of himself. 

That was the danger of a power like this, Steve realized. Time tripped over itself like so many dominoes. Maybe Bucky would live and fall in love and get married to one of the women who’d always found their way into his orbit. Maybe the Valkyrie would never crash, and Steve would wake up finding an old man wrapped around his mind. Maybe the whole universe would be yanked out from under him. 

“Ready?” he heard his voice whisper, head turning to look at Bucky. God, Bucky was _gorgeous_ , even disheveled as he was. His only response was an impish sort of grin as he cocked the hammer of a gun he’d swiped off a fallen Hydra agent. Time or distance or old age didn’t matter anymore, because those eyes would never have to be haunted by what was supposed to have come today. Whatever waited for Steve at home was worth it. 

Tony had said something about getting home, that it was the same as getting himself here. Steve remembered that much. He knew how this scene ended, and in light of what had transpired, home felt _urgent_. The particulars of how he’d landed himself here were a touch foggy, but he’d focused before, and he tried to focus now. He thought of the cool tile floors of the lab under his shoes and the strange sensors at his temples, ignoring the jolt of his foot against a bolted door. He thought of Stark’s wide, wide windows and the New York skyline, and bolstered himself against the brutal cold that blew through the train car. 

The cold lingered. His body kept moving, barreling through the door, and Steve could feel the momentum of ammunition against the shield, though he wasn’t the one who had lifted it. The train felt suddenly very small, and his body even smaller, a cage he couldn’t escape. Steve might have screamed if his lungs had been his own. 

“ _What the hell did you do to him?_ ” Bucky’s voice echoed in the confines of Steve’s mind. It had to be there and not here in the train beside him, because in the periphery of his younger self’s eyes, he could just see Bucky firing at Hydra agents, lips in a grimly focused line. Steve would have known anyway, just by listening. Bucky’s Brooklyn accent was all smoothed out of existence. Maybe in his fear of being trapped in this place, he was just imagining what brought him comfort. 

“ _I didn’t do anything to your boyfriend. That was all him._ ” Tony’s protests were distant and tinny, like the old radio he’d had before the war that never quite pulled in a signal properly. It wasn’t comfort then, but maybe it was a suggestion that Steve was making progress towards getting home. 

There was a line of Hydra agents between them and Zola, but they’d mow right through them. Steve knew because he’d done it already. His body carried on without him, and Steve’s focus was torn, struggling to tune out the gunfire clattering against his shield in favor of pulling himself home. Somewhere, in the nothing place where his mind existed, he could hear the angry hiss of Bucky’s voice, but the words flitted by so faintly, Steve couldn’t make out the shape of them. 

One by one, the agents fell, but Steve was barely paying attention. The yelling, the rattling of the train underfoot, even his own footfalls were just background noise as Steve groped for a handhold to pull himself back home. His other self’s vision was fine, but the world grayed at the edges, and Steve was sinking… somewhere. 

“ _He’s fine, Barnes. Listen to the doctor if you won’t listen to me. He just needs to sleep it off._ ” Steve could hear Tony talking, but he couldn’t make any sense of the words. He turned them over and over as he drifted.

“There’s nowhere to run, Zola. It’s over.” His own voice was booming, but it was the only thing. The fallen agents, even Bucky, so wonderfully _alive_ , was slipping away as the nothingness flooded his senses. His younger self was the only tether Steve had left, and it was snapping, fiber by fiber. 

“ _Well, he’s not doing it here_.” Bucky, _his_ Bucky, reached him even as the darkness crowded out everything else. There was a strange pull at his left temple. “ _I’m taking him home._ ”

They’d been faster this time, Steve realized suddenly. Gabe approached from the opposite direction, but the grief that had slowed him the first time was nonexistent. He was saying something. A smirk tugged at the man’s mouth, tilting his bushy red mustache upward. Steve couldn’t hear it. Absence oozed in, flooding his senses. The Bucky on the train with him, was laughing about something, but it was muffled, as if through glass. Steve’s head finally turned in that direction, and he caught a glimpse of icy blue eyes and a cocky grin he’d missed for ages. 

Slowly, and then all at once, the train melted from view. It grayed out, but maybe that was his own mind, drifting in limbo between two moments in his life. Steve got no opportunity to ponder. There was another pull, this time at his other temple, or at least where he thought that should be, and he the last tether snapped. Steve drifted in nothing, and then he drowned. 

\------------

It was early yet, the first rays of sunlight only barely peeping through the blinds. Steve was only marginally awake. There was no commotion, no alarm going off. The only sound in the bleary half light was Bucky’s breathing, muffled where he’d buried his face against Steve’s chest . No sign of trouble at all. Steve smiled fondly and curled his fingers in Bucky’s hair, pleased his lover kept it just long enough that he could. He pressed a kiss to Bucky’s temple and settled in the bedding. 

This was the truth as Steve Rogers knew it.

Morning was just making its way back into the world, and Steve meant to fight it off as long as he could. He hid in the blankets and pressed backwards until his back was flush with Bucky’s chest. It worked better this way. Bucky always had his back, and this way, long strands of hair didn’t get stuck in his nose. A metal arm curled around his flank. He took comfort in the soft, sleepy huff behind him, and a scruffy cheek pressed to his shoulder. 

This was the truth as Steve Rogers knew it.

Soon, Steve would recognize that one truth nullified the other,but soon wasn’t now. In the sleepy morning hours, still flirting with slumber, all he felt was right. Bucky was nestled against his back. No. Bucky was cradled in his arms. It felt like a strange dream in the way that all dreams were strange, and the way he couldn’t fight his way through the fog enough to notice what was wrong. 

The blaring of his alarm jarred him from the peace and quiet. He grinned as he felt Bucky press closer, face prickly against Steve’s skin. “C’mon Steve. It’s _Saturday_.”

Only, at the very same time, Bucky whined dramatically against his chest before leaning over to slap his hand down on the alarm. “One of these days, I’m gonna break that thing.”

Bucky stiffened behind him… and in front of him, and Steve rolled onto his back just in time to catch the way they stared at each other when they sat up. Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to make some sense of this. It would have been so easy to just disregard this as Steve having been drugged or something (to have some culprit he could blame), only the more he thought, the less sure he was. They were both real. He remembered them, only he was absolutely certain they’d never existed at the same time before. They couldn’t.

It was way too early for a mess like this. 

“Who the hell… “ Bucky said quietly, his expression partially hidden by the mess of hair in his face. What Steve could see was tense, his mouth set in a thin line as his gaze flicked from the other Bucky to Steve and back again. There was a soft creak of metal Steve had long since learned to identify as the slats of his hand sliding against each other when Bucky clenched his hands in the sheets. 

“...is he?” the other Bucky finished. He stared at his counterpart, brows knit in confusion, and Steve was reasonably certain his presence between them was the only thing keeping the peace. If what he suspected to be the case was true, he was particularly relieved no one had gotten up to anything frisky the night before in either version he could remember. Steve didn’t relish the idea of trying to mediate this naked. 

“I think he’s you, that you’re _both_ you.” Steve was careful not to direct his words at either one of them specifically. To do so felt like some sort of betrayal, and good lord his head hurt just thinking about this. 

“You think? Steve. I know our lives are a little weird and we live outside the rules on a lot of things, but I’m pretty sure ‘don’t bring random guys to bed who look like your boyfriend forgot to get a haircut for five years’ still holds.” Bucky, the clean shaven one with all his limbs glared at Steve like this was somehow his fault, and as Steve turned over what he was saying, he realized they both probably thought it was. 

“You definitely weren’t in this bed last night,” the other Bucky growled, but it was all bravado. His betrayed gaze never met Steve’s.

“I think I’d have noticed if I spontaneously appeared here,” the cleaner cut version quipped, arms crossed in aggravation. 

“Bucky, _stop_.” The way they both turned to look at Steve would have been funny under other circumstances, but at least it came a step closer to confirming his suspicion. Steve scrambled to put his theory into words. “I think something went wrong.”

“What kind of something?” At least the other Bucky was looking at him this time. The way he’d clasped his mismatched hands in his lap almost made him look small. The fact that Steve would never have intentionally caused Bucky distress didn’t make him feel any less guilty. 

Crazy as it sounded in his head, Steve had even less faith in his ability to make sense of this out loud. “You remember yesterday at Stark Tower?”

“Pretty sure that memory loss isn’t the problem we’re dealing with for once.” Bucky pushed long strands of hair out of his face, lips tilted up in some strange limbo between bitter and amused. 

“Okay. Point taken,” Steve sheepishly conceded. He’d never been what he would have characterized as a nervous person. Even before the serum, he’d never been shy about barreling into things, and now… well, once you jumped out of a plane without a parachute and fought with aliens, everything else kind of paled in comparison. None of that stopped him from subtly clutching at the blankets,completely unprepared for the barely restrained ire of two versions of Bucky. He was caught in the sort of calm that had the potential to become a maelstrom at any moment. 

“I just thought, what was the worst day of my life? If I could go through that again, maybe I’d understand what you were about to do, You know?” he started to explain, rambling at the longer haired version of Bucky, “I don’t know what happened, but I messed up.”

The shorter haired version of Bucky stared at him, brows knit in confusion. “Stark Tower? We weren’t even at Stark Tower yesterday.”

“Where did you go?” The way Bucky asked didn’t sound like a question at all, and maybe it wasn’t. He tapped his metal thumb against the blankets, and Steve swallowed thickly. There were two truths in Steve’s head. There were two _Steves_ in his head, if he were being honest. One of them found comfort in the version of Bucky who’d fallen from the train. There was comfort in the way he and this Bucky understood each other. Steve’s other self was unsettled by Bucky’s soft spoken demeanor. He looked at the Winter Soldier and only saw a stranger. 

Steve meant to give them the explanation they deserved. It was all right there, the science, the experimental accident, the way timelines twisted with his own mind as the epicenter; all at the tip of his tongue. He opened his mouth to say as much, but all that came out was cracked and half pleading. “I couldn’t let you fall. Not again.”

“What are you talking about? I never…” One of them started. 

The other reached out, laying his flesh and blood hand over Steve’s knuckles. “That was never your fault.”

“Okay, maybe I’m missing something because it’s ungodly early on a Saturday morning and I woke up to some bizarro alternate self in my bed, but how would changing something create two of us?” Despite his obvious aggravation, there was an energy and sense of fascination that Hydra had never had the opportunity to seize from this one. One part of Steve found it just a bit endearing. The other ached with how much he had missed it. 

“Technically, you’re the alternate self.” Bucky grumbled, his metal hand creaking ever so slightly in the blankets again. He subtly moved closer. Steve wasn’t sure if it was a defensive gesture or a possessive one, and both of them were understable. 

“Arguing about who belongs where isn’t helpful. You’re both you. That’s not up for debate,” Steve cut in, desperately trying to diffuse the situation as both versions of Bucky glared at each other. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he watched the two of them. If you took away the physical changes, they were really quite similar. Their posture was the same, protective, as if Steve were in some sort of danger. The scowls that creased their lips and furrowed their brows were identical, and if not for the sense of urgency Steve had around addressing this whole mess, he’d have been tempted to just watch the two of them while he got his bearings. Instead, he made himself speak. 

“I remember you coming home. After everything, I couldn’t have ever blamed you if you hadn’t, but you came back, and here we are.” Bucky, the one who’d once been Hydra’s weapon, hadn’t let go of his hand, and Steve squeezed it before he pulled away. Direct his attention at idental face on the other side of the bed, Steve explained, “They found you and I in the wreckage of the Valkyrie. I remember waking up with you, decades after the world ought to have forgotten about us.”

“How do you remember two different series of events?” The Bucky he suspected he’d inadvertently conjured into being asked, lips pursing in obvious thought. 

“Are you alright?” That same voice echoed at his other side. Of course he’d be the one to worry about Steve’s wellbeing where matters of the mind went. 

“I don’t know the answer to either of those things,” Steve admitted, much as he hated the ambiguity of it. “But we’re going to find out.”


	2. Chapter 2

Given the way the morning had started, Bucky was reasonably certain he was handling this pretty well. He’d managed not to flinch away when he and the imposter wearing his face grabbed for the same shirt. He ignored the way this other other version of him kept staring, as if he were the one who didn’t belong. If he were being charitable, it was probably the arm, but Bucky wasn’t feeling very charitable. 

The sooner they got back to Tony’s lab, the sooner they could figure out how to send away this strange echo of himself. He should have been glad maybe, that some version of himself hadn’t been erased and molded into Hydra’s puppet. He was. It was the ending he wished he’d gotten. Only he was here, and he didn’t need the reminder of all the places where he was broken. 

Bucky found himself analyzing the interloper the way he might have watched a target he was trying to blend in with. For all the similarities between them, life had bent them in starkly different directions. Even in the precarious place they’d woken up, there was a confidence to the way he moved, as if it hadn’t occurred to him to question if he belonged. Bucky supposed he wasn’t wrong. This other self was who Steve had fallen in love with in the first place. The creature Zola had made was simply all that had been left to come back to him. 

They moved differently, Bucky noticed, falling into step behind his other self. The smoothness with which his other self moved only drew more attention to the way he was favoring his left shoulder this morning. There were decades of breaks and battery his double had never known, and though Bucky was still as quick and strong as ever, he moved in the echoes of that damage. His assassin’s grace was an ingrained compensation as often as anything. 

Watching this other him walk through the parking lot beneath their apartment was an exercise in contrasts. Bucky wasn’t sure how any version of himself moved through the shadows and weak light without constantly scanning their surroundings. The threat of how he’d spent the last few decades clung like a shadow, but the interloper carried no such baggage. It was freedom… or maybe stupidity, and either way, it left Bucky bitterly forging ahead, yanking open the passenger door before their unwelcome guest could relegate him to the back seat. 

“Is anyone going to fill me in on what the hell is going on?” The other Bucky demanded, once Steve had started the car. Was that really what he sounded like? The sound of his voice from someone else’s throat was disconcerting. 

“I don’t know why you’re both in the same place.” Bucky watched Steve flounder as he tried to answer. This wasn’t the kind of moral quandary Steve was so decisive about, and it showed in the lack of force behind his response. 

“But you know plenty about what caused it, it seems like. I don’t even know _why_ there are two timelines,” the other Bucky grumbled from behind him. The breaking point was easy to pick out, even more so in a voice that was technically his own. The stress in his other self’s tone was subtle, but Bucky knew what to listen for. Academically, he was sure he should have been sympathetic, but Bucky hurt too much for sympathy right now. 

“Because yesterday Steve changed the past,” Bucky snapped. It was easier to be annoyed, and he couldn’t keep listening to Steve hedge about this. “You went down on the Valkyrie with Steve. You woke up here. That’s great, but it’s not what really happened.”

“Of course it’s what happened. I’m here, aren’t I?” The other Bucky’s voice had risen, not in volume, but in tone. 

“You are. Steve rewrote seventy years for you,” Bucky retorted. He was silenced by Steve’s hand reaching across the space between their seats, palm resting on his leg. There was little comfort in it, and even the way his other self glared at the gesture didn’t bring him any satisfaction. He sighed heavily, turning away to let his head fall back against the headrest. “It’s not what happened to me.”

It was only when his other self stopped talking that Bucky realized Steve hadn’t even turned on the radio. Probably just as well. They didn’t need something else to argue over. Bucky closed his eyes, and listened to the rush of cars on the highway. 

“What happened to you?” The question startled Bucky, and he was glad no one saw the way his expression screwed up at the question. 

He wasn’t about to delve into Hydra or the Russians, so he gave the simplest response he could. “I got lost.”

“Lost?” The other Bucky sounded doubtful, but thankfully didn’t press on that particular topic. “You look awfully young for not having been in the ice.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t on ice,” Bucky replied bitterly. It wasn’t a question yet, but it was going to be. At least this way, he got to control the narrative. “I just wasn’t on ice with _him_.”

“Bucky…” Steve squeezed his leg, and Bucky wasn’t sure if it was meant to be comfort or a suggestion to stop. 

The worst part was how keenly he understood what had happened. There were no lengths Steve wouldn’t have gone to to save him, and any other time, the realization would be downright heartwarming. Steve had probably thought he was giving Bucky his life back. Well, Steve probably hadn’t thought about it at all, actually, but if he _had_ , Bucky was sure it was well intentioned. Bucky couldn’t fathom that Steve would have intentionally replaced him with a better model. 

Yet, here they were. The truth was what it was, and Bucky was just a mockery of what he was supposed to be. Even if Tony could fix whatever Steve had wrecked in his efforts to help, Bucky wasn’t certain it was the right call. The damage was done, and Bucky wasn’t sure there was any wiping it away. The truth would still sit between them that in some version of their lives, Steve had gotten some iteration of him that wasn’t broken pieces. 

xxxxxxxx

There was a fair bit of squabbling about who should be called what. Walking ahead of them, through the building. Steve couldn’t even tell who was saying what. As easy as they were to tell apart when he looked at them, there were a dizzying number of similarities between them as well. They sounded the same, nerves hidden behind sharp wit and bravado. Steve might have tried to put a stop to their insults and arguing, only he hoped (maybe foolishly so) that they’d work it out themselves. 

Steve suspected it was more boredom than surrender that made either of them give in, but they’d found some sort of middle ground, much to his relief. The version of his partner with the long hair and the metal arm would be Bucky, and the other would be James. He didn’t catch much beyond a rather heated back and forth about which one of them belonged in this timeline, and how much bearing on who got to keep their name of choice. At least by the time they reached the lab, they’d stopped _arguing_ about it. 

“Rogers! You were so busy playing Sleeping Beauty yesterday, I didn’t even get a chance to find out what happened before your boyfriend hauled you off.” Whatever else Tony might have said came to an abrupt halt as Steve came all the way into the lab, Bucky and James in tow. He lifted an eyebrow, irritatingly calm about the whole thing as he corrected himself. “Boyfriend _s_ , apparently.”

“Tony, we have a problem,” Steve countered sternly, not particularly in the mood for Tony’s jokes. 

“Oh, I don’t know. I’d think two Peppers would be the opposite of a problem,” Tony teased, his gaze flicking between Bucky and James. “Wow. Who knew you could pull off sinister assassin _and_ boyscout?”

“This is serious,” Steve insisted, crossing his arms. Even James, who normally only made a half hearted effort to hide his amusement at Tony’s sense of humor looked utterly unamused. 

“Everything is serious with you, Cap,” Tony drawled, but his expression sobered, just a little. “Well? You can’t just barge in here shouting at me about your extra boyfriend troubles. What happened?”

“Your machine happened,” Bucky grumbled from behind Steve. 

“I wanted to know how real a bad situation might feel to go back to,” Steve cut in before Tony could say anything to Bucky. “So I went back to Bucky’s last mission with the Howling Commandos. On the train.”

“...Huh.” Tony looked thoughtfully at Steve. 

“You _said_ I couldn’t change anything.” Steve gave Tony an accusatory glare, not sure if he was more angry at Stark or himself right now. “Only, just for… for a fraction of a second, it was like I took over, and it changed everything.”

“You shouldn’t have been able to.” Steve didn’t exactly expect Tony to be apologetic, but the man looked downright fascinated. “The factors that would have had to align for this to happen would be impossible for just about anyone. Even you.”

“So you _knew_ this could happen,” Bucky growled. Steve looked over his shoulder to see the way Bucky had tensed up. 

“Easy, killer. When I say impossible, I mean Spangles here just performed some kind of miracle. I ran a thousand simulations and none of them ever came close to what he had to have done to save you.” 

Only, it wasn’t Bucky he’d saved. Judging by the way Bucky’s jaw was clenching, Steve assumed that was exactly what he was thinking too. Steve reached out, resting a hand on Bucky’s right shoulder as he addressed Tony. “So, why are there two of them if I changed the past?”

“Because you didn’t change the past,” Tony huffed, as if it were the sort of thing Steve should have innately known. “What you _did_ was create a paradox.”

“You’re not making sense. What I did changed events. Bucky never fell.” Steve’s brows furrowed as he tried to follow what Tony was saying. 

“Yeah, except you were only there to change events because of the machine I made. I’d bet you my red lamborghini that I only made this machine in our timeline.” Tony inclined his head towards James. “Hey, boyscout. Where were you last night?”

“Charity benefit,” James replied evenly. One part of Steve wanted to argue that, but another part remembered it, plain as day. Wasn’t _that_ just a trip?

“I know where you were,” Tony murmured as he gestured briefly towards Bucky on his way back to Steve. “So, that just leaves you.”

“I was here…” Steve started, pinching the bridge of his nose. “...and I was at the charity benefit. It’s like I’ve got the last seventy years in here twice.”

Tony whistled. “That’s some paradox.”

“Okay, assuming you’re right,” Steve started, glaring when Tony cut him off. 

“I _am_ right.” Tony’s expression was tinged with awe, and while Steve thought for a second it might have been directed at him, it was probably all ego when it came down to it. 

“Fine. How do we fix it?” Steve pressed, ignoring the nervous knot in his stomach. Some part of him dreaded the answer. 

“Right now? We don’t. You got a little too enthusiastic playing hero and broke the device.” Tony pointed out the machine Steve had used the day before, or what was left of it. The metal looked as if it had been burned from the inside out. The shiny lacquer coating had cracked and peeled back, the bare surface beneath heavily dappled where the worst of the damage was. 

“Can you fix it?” It was a setback, sure, but it had to be fixable. Bucky and James both deserved better than this strange limbo they were in. 

“That’s a stupid question. Why do you always ask me things like that? ‘Can I fix it’ is entirely the wrong question.” Tony shook his head, picking up a one of the blackened sensor cords. The end that had been stuck to Steve’s temple the day before had burned away almost entirely, and what remained was singed and shriveled. “For being the Star Spangled Man with a Plan, it sure seems like you’ve got a habit of forgetting to think the minute Barnes bats his eyelashes at you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” There was that feeling again, something tight in his throat, like he’d swallowed glue. 

“Well, there are two people behind you glaring at me like I’ve killed Christmas for the next decade, and I only remember the scary one. No offense, scary one,” Tony called out to Bucky, who rolled his eyes, but didn’t say a word. “Tell me something. Does remembering both timelines _hurt_?”

 

“No…” Steve responded, a little bewildered by the question. Was that a risk? It hadn’t occurred to him that holding all this at once might be dangerous.

Before he could say anything else, Tony was shoving his way ahead. “Okay, so you’re not hurt. Judging by my experience, being closest to the situation, it’s a safe bet that no one else is having weird, you know, extra boyfriends lying around. That in itself is about as much of a miracle as you pulling this off in the first place is. Pushing our luck on this is a stupid idea, and given my track record, it’s definitely bad if I’m saying so.” 

“We can’t just leave it like this.” The protest was a little bit weaker than Steve had intended. Tony had a point, much as he hated to admit it. Just because his and Bucky’s lives had been the only thing to go haywire this time didn’t mean that luck would hold the next time around. 

“There’s also the culpability aspect.” Tony paced around the ruined remains of his machine. “Boy next door edition over there is a product of a paradox you caused. That timeline didn’t exist until you got the urge to play god.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue. “That isn’t…”

“My _point_ ,” Tony interrupted, “is that the only way you fix this is to undo what you did. Where do you think he goes when you do?”

There it was, the pile of bricks that dropped in his stomach. All the air felt like it had been punched from his lungs. Maybe it had all been conjured up over night, but Steve had _lived_ it. The life he’d had with James was every bit as real in his head as the one he’d had with Bucky. Every mission, every kiss, every late night conversation. To call James anything less than real was just cruel. Bucky was the James Buchanan Barnes Steve had always known, but so was James, and Steve couldn’t fathom the idea of simply erasing one of them from existence. 

Tony always had a knack for pressing when Steve least wanted him to. “I’ve gotta fix the machine before I can even begin to understand how you broke science.”

“I didn’t break science.” Steve didn’t know what he’d done, actually, but that seemed awfully dramatic. Though, an extra seventy years kicking around in his head was also dramatic, so what did he know?

“See? This is why I don’t invite you over more often. How are you supposed to be impressed if you don’t even understand what’s happening?” Tony glanced over Steve’s shoulder, probably at Bucky and James, and lowered his voice. “This actually being in the realm of possibility changes _everything_. I’m not sure rewriting the universe again is the right answer to deal with your relationship getting complicated.”

“You know that’s not what I’m asking.” Put like that though… maybe it was. It gnawed at him, leaving him to wonder about the broader implications.

“Isn’t it? Logically speaking, how else do we get home?” It was James who spoke up, the words coming out startlingly evenly under the circumstances. Steve didn’t get a good look at James’ expression, but Tony’s eyes widened ever so slightly. 

“How do you _do_ that? I thought it was a holdover from the mindless assassin gig, but I guess it’s just your face. I take it back. You’re both the scary one,” Tony went on, turning to look at Steve. “I have to know how you sleep at night knowing he might be looking at you like that.”

Steve snorted. “Guess I just don’t piss him off the way you do.”

“ _He_ is right here in the room,” Bucky grumbled irritably, off to Steve’s right slightly. 

“Twice, even.” James sounded tense, the change in cadence slight, but practically deafening to Steve. “Are we done?”

“Yeah. We’re done. Shoo. I’ve got priceless equipment to fix thanks to _someone_.” Tony picked up a mug from a nearby counter, took a sip, and immediately spat it back into the cup. “And coffee to acquire. Preferably without any more creepy murder glaring.”

“We were just leaving.” Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, hesitating for a second. He wasn’t quite certain he wanted to face Bucky and James after this particular conversation. Of course, facing Tony wasn’t any better, what with the slightly annoyed wave that got Steve’s hackles up. The fact that it was probably meant to get under his skin only annoyed Steve more. 

Turning around he found what he’d expected. Bucky and James wore nearly identical expressions, brows knit somewhere between confusion and aggravation. James was chewing on the inside of his lip in a way Steve wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking, and Bucky’s mouth had turned down in a tight, little frown. This was going to be a conversation, he was sure, but it wasn’t going to happen here. Steve held out his arms in a vague gesture, trying to herd them back towards the door. 

“Cap,” Tony called when Steve was just barely in the doorway. Steve didn’t turn back, but he stopped where he was, listening for what followed. “Don’t be stupid. Think this through before you do anything.”

“Not that there’s anything I can do,” Steve pointed out. If Tony didn’t help, he couldn’t think of anyone else equipped to fill in the gap, “but that’s a laugh coming from you.”

“Yeah,” Tony drawled back. Steve didn’t dare look now, knowing from the tone of voice that he’d want to smack the smug, self satisfied look off Tony’s face. “You’re not me.”

xxxxxxx

James had woken to a man in his bed who was and wasn’t him. It had seemed safe at the time to assume that that was going to be the worst part of the day. Bucky was an anomaly, he’d assumed, an ill fitting piece in a world he otherwise knew. Even as they’d driven to Avengers Tower, James had been secure in the notion that the streets they passed down were the ones he knew, and the people here were the ones he encountered as he moved through the world. 

Tony summarily shattered that notion. James wouldn’t have called them friends, precisely, only because Tony would never let him live anything that sounded like a compliment down. They had each other’s backs when it mattered, and traded good natured barbs when it didn’t, but Tony hadn’t even _known_ him. 

_That timeline didn’t exist until you got the urge to play God._

The words echoed in his head, over and over. It wasn’t true, _couldn’t_ be true, because he was real. He remembered what he ate for breakfast the day before, and what they’d done for Steve’s last birthday, and waking up in the ice when SHIELD had found them. He wasn’t some imaginary friend conjured up out of wishful thinking. Not that he could blame Steve if he was. Bucky was quiet and sulky and hard to read, and none of James’ experience so far suggested that any of that was out of the ordinary. 

Even the car was the same. He’d sat in this thing hundreds of times. Hell, he’d cackled his way through Steve learning to drive it. Sitting in the back seat, James closed his eyes, clinging to the memory of the night before. It was the last shred of normalcy he had. He’d fallen asleep with Steve’s arms curled around his back, his face pressed to the soft fabric of Steve’s undershirt. James knew the cadence of Steve’s heartbeat against his cheek as surely as if it were his own. Surely, details like that weren’t just conjured out of nowhere. 

Cracking an eye open, James looked between Bucky and Steve to the street in front of them. It was the same as it had always been. James had driven on it. He _knew_. There was a bar, one block west of where they were passing, that he and Steve frequented because the fries were to die for. There was a pizza joint not far from there that Nat of all people had introduced him to. He had a whole life full of people and things that weren’t just Steve. All the same, the meeting with Tony had left him with the unsettling notion that he was suddenly a stranger to everyone.

It was just a theory. James tried to convince himself of that in the awful, deafening silence that hung in the car. There was no music, no conversation, just the soft rumble of asphalt under rubber. Tony hadn’t known him, but Tony had been close, in the room with Steve and Bucky, from what James gathered. Maybe he was an anomaly. Either way, James had to know. 

“Hey, are you up for breakfast? I’m starving,” James ventured, hating the jittery thing his chest did when Bucky looked back at him. That face that was and wasn’t his was just unsettling. It wouldn’t help his need to know any if he didn’t follow through on this, so he made himself keep talking. “I thought Macdonough might be nice.”

“Macwhat?” The lack of recognition on Bucky’s part eased James’ nerves, just a little. Better that this wasn’t a place Steve went to with Bucky. 

“Macdonough. You’ll like it,” Steve promised. His expression did a strange thing in the rearview mirror, and James wondered if he was confused by remembering a place he apparently both had and hadn’t been. Only, if Tony was right, Steve hadn’t exactly ever been there. 

Whether Steve had been there or not, he got them to the place without much trouble. Even from outside, James could see the young woman behind the counter, and he let out a breath in something like relief. That was good. He knew that face. She was familiar, a part of their routine. She’d flirt with him. Steve would make a face even though he’d _insist_ later than he hadn’t. They’d settle back into the way Saturday mornings were supposed to go when there wasn’t a mission to futz them up, and then maybe James could breathe again. 

In his eagerness, James hopped out of the car and walked briskly to the door, hardly even noting whether or not Steve and Bucky followed. The woman behind the counter smiled in greeting, and James grinned back, wickedly charming. It was harmless, and Steve could deal with a little competition after what James had woken up to this morning. He made his way to the counter, leaning against it the way he always did. “Morning, Kim. How are things?”

“Things are… fine.” Her smile had slipped a little, lips pursing in clear confusion. “I hope you’re having a good morning, sir. What can I get you?”

That… wasn’t how this went at all. She was supposed to smile back. She was supposed to call him Bucky. She wasn’t supposed to look at him like he was some unwelcome stranger. He really was adrift in someone else’s world, wasn’t he?

“It... _is_ Kim, isn’t it?” He was grasping at straws. Please remember me. Please, someone, remember me. 

Kim’s face crinkled in discomfort. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”

“He is uncannily good at that. Remembers everyone, and last time we were here, you were so kind,” Steve cut in, only making James’ gut twist further. So, Steve had caught his error, too. James didn’t trust himself to say anything, but Steve remembered what he always got, and somehow that was even worse. He remembered, and the part of Steve that didn’t belong to his other self remembered, but to the rest of the world, he wasn’t even real. 

Bucky couldn’t possibly know the sheer gravity of what had transpired just now, but there was sympathy in the way he politely gave his order and didn’t watch James and Steve. Sympathy, or maybe his own private bitterness, because it was exactly the sort of thing James had done when Steve and Peggy stood close, or spoke like no one else was there. 

“I’ll bring it out if you’d like to take a seat,” James vaguely caught Kim saying, only then realizing he hadn’t caught anything in between. On automatic, he headed for the table they always sat at, a little two seater at the end of the windows furthest from the door. Only… it was a two seater, which posed some obvious logistics issues, given Bucky’s presence. The world had been ripped out from under him, and he couldn’t even sit at the right table. 

There was a four top next to their usual table, but that was a nightmare waiting to happen. Steve would sit with Bucky, because of course he would. This was Bucky’s timeline, apparently. He was just an uninvited guest. Worse, maybe Steve would sit with him, and then he’d have to look at his own face, rough with something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, probably glaring at him. 

“Could we get this to go, actually?” Steve called to Kim as he steered James towards their usual table. James sat down to wait, too out of sorts to put a great deal of effort into protesting. He looked up at the high pitched squeal of chair legs against the tile floor and Steve dragged over a third chair. It seemed he was thinking the same as James, because Bucky slumped down in the chair across from him, with Steve between them both. It wasn’t good, but it was less bad than the other alternatives. 

The enthusiasm James had mustered up for this place fled as quickly as he’d grabbed a hold of it, and the only modicum of relief was that at least they weren’t staying. There was no more familiarity here than he’d found interacting with Tony. He couldn’t bring himself to engage in conversation, so he stared out the window at a world that wasn’t really his. A glance at Bucky and Steve suggested they weren’t exactly any better. They were so silent, they could have been sitting around a coffin instead of a cafe table. 

When Kim brought their bag of food, his mind weakly conjured up how the exchange should have gone. In his timeline, it would have been all smiles and friendly teasing that came with spending so much time there. She didn’t know them here, and her polite, but succinct demeanor only hammered home the obvious wrongness of all this. 

His universe or not, James knew the way to the car. He moved on automatic, the world feeling sluggish around him. What little joy or hope his and Steve’s traditions had brought him was snuffed out. 

Bucky slipped into the back seat, and if he’d been thinking clearly, James might have found that strange. His head was cluttered with frustration and grief, and there was no room left to dwell on his strangely somber other self. With a huff, he yanked open the passenger side door, and sank into the seat. He swallowed his dismay, tipping his head against the headrest. 

It wasn’t a particularly long drive home, but the quiet grated on him more than the situation itself. Was Bucky fine with this? Was _Steve_? The person he knew would have been chomping at the bit to fix this, caution be damned. It was like his Steve was gone, and a stranger had slipped into his skin. He said all the right words, gave all those convincingly sympathetic looks, but here they were, driving back to the apartment instead of finding a way home. 

"Is it true?" James finally blurted out, when he couldn't stand the silence any longer. Both Bucky and Steve turned to look his way. The attention was overwhelming, but James set his jaw and stared right back at Steve. "Am I just some kind of... construct?"

"B...James." Steve winced visibly, the change of moniker clearly a difficult adjustment. Good. At least it suggested he was real to _someone_. The pronounced way Steve hesitated made it seem like he might not finish, but he only lowered his voice and continued. "I can't possibly know that."

"Neither can Tony," Bucky added, his expression inscrutable. It was probably what he'd have said if their positions had been reversed, and maybe that was why there was no solace in it. 

Something snappish teetered on the tip of James’ tongue, but it fizzled out before he could put any force behind it. He twitched under the normally comforting brush of Steve's hand against his forearm. “What I know is I remember an entire life with you. Maybe you're only _here_ because of what I did yesterday, but I don't believe for a second that you're not real.”

“Your belief doesn't make me less of a ghost,” James muttered bitterly. There was a soft sound in the seat behind them, but a glance in the rearview mirror told him nothing. Bucky was still as if he’d been sculpted, gaze fixed on something out the window. He was as disconcertingly quiet as he'd been when James first encountered him. 

The silence was anything but comfortable, but it was better than their fruitless attempts at conversation. Nothing Steve said dulled the razor edge fear that sliced through his gut. Bucky made for any awful spectator, him but not him. What had possibly happened to make him the shadow creature in the back seat? 

Really, James didn't want to know. He wanted to go home and forget this whole mess. He wanted to know there was a home to go back to. When they finally parked, he got out and trudged towards an elevator he'd been in almost every day… and never. He could find his way blind to their apartment, but the doorman on the first floor wouldn't know him. Even Steve wasn't quite his. 

The elevator ride stretched on forever, and whatever joy he normally found in close quarters with Steve had slipped away. The closed off space was too cramped, and Bucky’s presence was overwhelming. James glanced at his other self, scruffy and tired in a way that James had never allowed himself to be, not even during the war. The idea that there was a series of events that could make that of him was terribly unsettling amidst a deluge of other unsettling things. Maybe he wouldn’t be trapped here long enough for the why of it to matter. 

The elevator might have run out of air for how hard it was to breathe, but somehow they made it. They carried their overwhelming silence with them, down the hall and to a door he must have opened a thousand times. At least in the confines of the apartment that wasn’t entirely home, James could put some space between them. 

It probably shouldn’t have surprised him to find that his other self had the same idea. Bucky was down the hall and behind the closed door of the spare bedroom before James even quite registered that he was leaving. Whatever relief there was in not having to look at this carnival mirror version of himself, it died in his chest as he watched Steve, clearly torn between the two of them. 

“You should go after him. He’s the one who’s supposed to be here,” James heard himself saying, though the bitterness nearly stopped up his throat. 

“You belong here, too,” Steve countered. Decisive as he usually was, James could see the way his muscles twitched, itching both to stay and to go after Bucky. James found himself wishing Steve would go, because even the silence felt too loud with him around. 

“Do I?” For the first time since he’d woken up, James looked, really _looked_ at the apartment. It was the same one he lived in with Steve. Some of the furniture was the same, but the resemblance beyond that was tenuous at best. The books on the bookcase, the artwork on the walls, even the mug on the coffee table belonged to a home that wasn’t his. “This isn’t my home.”

“ _James_.” Steve winced, lips pulling back in a slight grimace. James couldn’t stomach another attempt to assure him that this was going to be fine, so he held up his hand. 

“Yeah. I know. We’ll work it out, whatever that means. Just...he’s the one you should go talk to,” James insisted. It was what he’d have wanted, he thought, if their roles were reversed. Probably. It was impossible to know what Bucky wanted. 

“I’ll be right back.” Steve paused only long enough to drop the bag with their sandwiches on the coffee table, right next to the ridiculous octopus mug, still half full of what was probably tepid black coffee. James watched Steve briskly head down towards the spare bedroom, but the minute the door was closed, his gaze flicked back to the strangely incongruous mug. It didn’t seem like it belonged in a place where everyone was so tired. Had his other self picked it out? Was it Steve’s? The fact that the one place that should have been a haven was so full of mystery was abruptly more than James could stomach. 

The world out there didn’t know him, but at least he recognized it. The walls of the cafe had the right artwork and the right girl behind the counter. Tony had looked familiar. He’d only tried one place, so maybe somewhere among the places James had built his life, some remnant would remain. Even if he failed, it had to be better than drowning in the trappings of a home where his place was already taken. Steve was still in the spare bedroom, closed away with the Bucky who belonged in this world, so James did the only thing he could think to. He left. 

xxxxxxx

It wasn’t the bedroom Bucky had any interest in. It was the distance the door put between them. Tony had shattered any hope Bucky had of this being fixed in the short term. Whatever life he had, he was going to be sharing it with James. Bucky would make peace with that the same way he made peace with everything else life had thrown at him, but right now the space between him and placation was a chasm far too wide to leap.

From the closed door, Bucky kept going, lifting the window, and pushing the screen out of place to crawl through. There were probably rules these days about hanging out on the fire escape, but he hadn’t cared yesterday, or the day before, or the one before that. There was comfort in the solitude, and he wasn’t about to give it up now. The wind was loud all the way up here, and the noise of the city seemed far away. He’d just started really liking his life again, and if he closed his eyes, maybe he could hang on to the reality he’d been mostly certain of for a little longer.

The grating of the fire escape only brought attention to how far away the ground was, but that was soothing when nothing else was. The world felt a little clearer, isolated from the trappings of the life he led. Leaning on the railing, Bucky closed his eyes and breathed in. 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there when he heard the bedroom door open inside. It wasn’t surprising, but he’d hoped for a little more time to gather his thoughts. The troubled smile he pasted on didn’t quite reach his eyes, and when he opened his mouth to greet Steve, all that came out was, “Where’s James?”

“Living room.” Steve replied, slipping through the open window after Bucky. “This isn’t about him. Are you okay?”

It was the first time he’d been asked that question. He’d wanted it before, to know that it mattered, but now he didn’t know how to answer. “I have to be, don’t I?”

“Of course you don’t have to be. This is a lot for… for all of us.” Steve hooked an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, tipping their heads together. Bucky wanted to find comfort in the proximity, but all he could think about was the strange undercurrent that hung between them. There was a part of Steve who touched Bucky and felt like he was betraying James. There was a part of Steve in love with the version of Bucky who was alone in the living room, probably as much of a wreck as Bucky was. 

Bucky allowed himself the contact for only a moment before pulling out from under Steve’s arm. “Of course it’s a lot, but he’s not going anywhere, right? The world keeps going and we’re saddled with this, and it doesn’t _matter_ if I’m okay.”

The wind swept through the silence between them, so loud he almost missed Steve’s follow up. “It matters to me.”

Bucky smiled, sweet and in love, and falling apart. Of course it mattered to Steve. It mattered to half of him, anyway. “I’ll… get there. That’s what I can give you right now.”

Steve smiled back, worn out and lopsided, and Bucky wished for a second that he hadn’t shrugged out of Steve’s embrace. He wanted it now, but it felt off limits to ask. “Come back inside?”

“In a while,” Bucky promised, because he couldn’t go now. He was just getting to a place where his chest didn’t feel so full of sludge, and it was precarious at best. Having to face James right now was liable to drown him. 

Bucky wasn’t very good at looking out for his own interests, and if Steve had pressed, he would have folded. Steve didn’t push the issue though, much to Bucky’s relief. His fingers brushed warmly against Bucky’s flesh and blood arm in a fleeting touch. “Alright. I’ll see you inside.”

The touch was gone as quickly as it had come, and Bucky could hear the way the window creaked as Steve pushed upward on its frame to climb back inside. It was just as well, because Bucky had said he was going to be alright, and he didn’t have the first idea of how to get there. He’d already tried reasoning his way through to the other side, but the pain that came with knowing he wasn’t the only person on his partner’s mind wasn’t going to be reasoned away. Worse, technically he _was_ the only person. There was no one to be angry at for the way he and Steve had found their way together in both timelines. Wasn’t that good? Didn’t it suggest something important about them?

At least out here, detached from everything, he could think. They’d all gotten an admittedly bad hand, and if he wasn’t nearly ready to dredge up much sympathy, he could at least acknowledge it. He tried to think what it would have been like if he and James had been in the same body. Was that how it was for Steve? He seemed mostly alright, but there’d been mannerisms and word choices he must have picked up in his life with James. The push and pull of it had to be awful. 

James may have been all the things that Bucky had forgotten how to be, but Bucky wasn’t so blind as to miss that the timeline they were in was his own. Being yanked out of the life James thought he was living in was probably a very different kind of awful. Distantly, Bucky could understand that, even if he didn’t feel very sorry for his other self just now. James was…

“James is gone.” Steve’s voice came through the window at Bucky’s back. That was the other part of Steve talking, judging by the distress that laced his words. 

“Gone where?” Bucky asked carefully. He knew a thing or two about running away, and he wasn’t certain if there was some context he was missing. 

Even through the window, the anxious pull at Steve’s features was obvious. Bucky knew the answer even before Steve said anything. “I have no idea. He was in the living room. He _said_ I should come talk to you.”

Bucky hid the sourness that twisted in his stomach at that, but it was a skill drawn up from years of infiltration work for Hydra rather than something born out of compassion. “You should probably go find him.”

Subterfuge had never been remotely in Steve’s wheelhouse, and the look Bucky found directed at him was nothing short of anguished. “I can’t leave him on his own. _Please_ don’t go anywhere.”

“Where am I going to go, Steve?” Bucky swallowed down the sorrow of thinking about Steve chasing after someone else, of the care and comfort usually reserved for him being directed at another target. Steve didn’t need Bucky’s grief right now, so he kept it carefully squirreled away. “You’re the closest thing I have to home.”

xxxxxxxxx

Steve didn’t know where to begin looking for James. New York was a big place, and he couldn’t imagine James would find much relief for what ailed him in any of the places they frequented. Granted, he hadn’t imagined James would run off either, so this wasn’t an exercise in predictability. He turned up empty for an hour before giving up and calling Tony for help.

“It’s been like… half a day, and you already lost one of them?” Tony’s voice carried through the phone, sounding much more amused than concerned. 

Steve was in no mood to explain. He huffed into the speaker, “Are you going to help me or not?”

“Yes. Yes. I’ll put facial recognition on this tail. He can’t have gotten that far.” Tony’s words were slightly uneven with obvious distraction. “Did you lose the boy scout or the overgrown emo kid?”

“James is the one who left,” Steve grumbled, realizing belatedly he wasn’t sure if he’d made any sort of name distinction when they’d been by earlier. “The one from the other timeline. Did you say facial recognition? Isn’t that government property?”

“What’s the point of having security clearance if you’re not going to take advantage of it now and again?” Tony laughed on the other end of the line. “I’ll call you when he turns up.”

Steve continued his mostly fruitless search. As much as he didn’t want to talk to Tony at the moment, he was relieved when the phone rang a few hours later. Hoping it was good news, Steve picked up the call. “Tony?”

“Turns out being good at hide and seek is something your boy is good at in any timeline,” Tony drawled. 

Steve frowned, fingers tightening on the phone. “Does that mean you didn’t find him?”

“What? Did he knock you on the head on the way out? That’s a stupid question. Of course I found him.”

“Where is he, then?” Steve pressed. If he could just talk to James, surely, Steve could convince him to come home. 

“Looks like he headed into Central park about…” Tony hummed, probably checking the footage, “20 minutes ago. North end, from the looks of it.”

“North end. Got it,” Steve confirmed, already heading that way. 

“Now, aren’t you glad your tax dollars are going to something useful?” Tony teased. Steve might have said something curt, but he didn’t get the chance, as Tony professed he had more important things to do than prattle on to some old geezer. 

That James had ended up in Central Park wasn’t surprising. James was usually a little too lively to find much appreciation in somewhere so serene, but it made for a good place to think. In a broad sense, his ending up here wasn’t so surprising, but the place Steve found him was. 

James had taken a seat in the grass beneath an old magnolia tree near the Bow Bridge. With his arms wrapped around his bent legs, chin resting on his knees, James looked more caught up in his own grief than their surroundings. Steve’s eyes flicked back to the tree. He’d sat under it the autumn before, Bucky tucked against his shoulder. Somehow, he didn’t think James would appreciate the comparison.

“Hey.” Steve closed the distance between them, leaning against the tree beside James. 

James jumped, but didn’t say anything, and Steve wasn’t sure how to proceed. He thumbed at the relatively smooth bark of the tree, trying not to think of where his palm had landed. Bucky had carved their names there the fall before, smiling for what had felt like the first time in ages. He might forget them again, Bucky had said, but Central Park would remember. 

Maybe Bucky hadn’t cut so deeply though, because when Steve jerked his hand away, determined to focus just on James, there was nothing but the smooth trunk of the tree. There were a lot of trees in Central park, and plenty here. Perhaps he’d just been mistaken. It didn’t matter one way or the other when James was sitting there hurting, so he knelt down, close but not touching. “You left.”

James snorted. “You noticed.”

“Of course I noticed,” Steve protested, settling so that the way he sat closely mimicked James. “What I don’t understand is _why_.”

“I couldn’t be there is all.” James shrugged, watching their surroundings and never quite looking at Steve. “I needed to know if there was anything left that’s mine.”

“I’m yours,” Steve murmured, frowning at the way James bristled like a cornered stray cat. 

James did look at him then, eyes narrowed. “How much of you?”

Steve didn’t quite understand the question, and he pursed his lips in thought before answering, “All of me.”

“That isn’t true. Maybe you’re mine, but you’re also his. How much of you is the one who I belong with?” James’ voice lifted slightly. It wasn’t panic, not exactly, but the distress was clear. “How much of you even remembers me? No one else does.”

Steve reached out and hoped James wouldn’t pull away. Much to his relief, James only stuttered against the pull of his embrace and then settled, heaving an irritable sigh and allowing their bodies to be pulled flush. “All of me. James, _I_ remember you. I’m yours. I’m also his. It’s not an equation.”

For a while, James said nothing. He stayed close though, his weight a welcome thing as it pressed against Steve’s side. When he spoke, it just sounded tired, “You have an entire life without me in it. I don’t know what to do with that.”

He couldn’t argue with that, but Steve shifted his body slightly, turning his head to press his forehead to James’ temple. “You… _we_ are no less real because of that.”

James huffed. “I can’t even be mad at you. I can’t be mad at anyone. Do you know how _frustrating_ that is? The world’s gone sideways, and there’s no one to even take it out on.”

Steve swallowed and nodded. He knew all too well. While he craved the closeness of his arm around James, his stomach twisted uncomfortably. If this was truly permanent, it promised to be a difficult thing for all of them. 

The sun was just starting to set, blue skies softening towards the pinks and oranges that heralded dusk. James still hadn’t pulled away. His voice was soft as he broke the quiet that had fallen between them. “It’s all wrong, you know. I went everywhere I could think of, all the places that make up the bits of my life that aren’t you. No one knew… It was all wrong. Right here is the first place today that’s felt like home.”

“The park?” Steve asked. That was strange. James barely ever came to the park. 

“No.” James shook his head, gently easing away from Steve. “This tree.”

“We could stay a while longer if you like,” Steve offered, forcing himself not to follow James in an effort to stay close. For a little while, things had seemed almost okay, and he was sorry to lose that. 

“Park’s closing soon.” James stood up, dusting himself off. “Besides, there’s… There’s not only me.”

X

The apartment was dark when they returned. Steve swallowed roughly as he turned on the light, afraid that Bucky might have left after all. The living room was as empty as he’d left it, but the sandwich bag had made its way off the table, and the coffee mug was gone, so Bucky had spent enough time in here to at least tidy up. 

“Buck?” Steve called out, but the only answer he got was James’ heavy sigh at his back. 

He turned his head, but James waved him off, heading for the far side of the room. Steve thought, for a moment, that it was an effort to get away, but he was only closing the blinds, shutting out the darkness of nightfall outside. “Relax. I’m not going anywhere.”

Of course, it was late. Maybe Bucky had just gone to bed. It had been a long day, and even Steve couldn’t deny he was exhausted. He relished the idea of curling up with… hopefully with both of them, and forgetting this whole mess for a few hours. 

Bucky hadn’t disappeared after all. The spare bedroom door was ajar, and even in the distant light from the living room, he could make out the silhouette of Bucky’s body in the bed. Bucky hadn’t slept there since he’d first come back, and catching the shine of a metal shoulder hunched in the blankets there now clutched at Steve’s heart. He’d left Bucky alone with this so long already, Steve couldn’t bear to do it now. 

There was a niggling thought that maybe it wasn’t about Bucky. Not really. Maybe he just didn’t want to be alone. He’d never cheated on a partner, and he wondered if the knots in his stomach were what it felt like to be unfaithful. Every act of preference or affection or love was also a betrayal. At least if they were all in the same place, that feeling eased a little. 

“Bucky?” Steve murmured, stepping into the room. Bucky didn’t respond, and to anyone other than Steve, he probably would have seemed to be asleep. Steve had woken up to the cadence of Bucky's breathing too many times to mistake the steady in and out as slumber. There was a reason for the lie, Steve was sure, and he’d let it go even if it hurt. 

Padding softly across the carpet, Steve circled around the bed. He sat on the open place on the mattress created by the way Bucky curled in on himself. Starlight filtered through the curtains, and he could just make out the slit of one of Bucky’s eyes opening, but he pretended not to notice. Bucky had spent a lot of time with other people making choices for him. Steve wasn’t about to take this one away just because he was feeling wretched. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, delicately sweeping a lock of hair from Bucky’s face. The almost imperceptible flinch he got for his trouble was worse than everything else, and Steve bit the inside of his cheek and tried to school his expression into something not openly pained. He thumbed at Bucky’s temple, and through his his hair, hoping the gesture was more comfort than heartache. Bucky didn’t respond, but he didn’t pull away, and Steve wondered if it would be entirely terrible to just stay a while. 

James was out in the living room though, along with whatever thoughts had driven him away in the first place. Steve wasn’t about to let that happen again, so he didn’t linger as long as he’d have liked to. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the side of Bucky’s face. “I love you.”

Bucky’s choice to sequester himself put Steve in a strange place. Much as he wished for proximity, he didn’t want to risk Bucky thinking he’d made a choice of some sort. This looked bad enough already, and the momentary solace wouldn’t be remotely worth the price he’d pay if he gave Bucky reason to believe things had changed. There was James to consider too, though. Just because Bucky wanted to be alone didn’t mean it was fair to subject James to that. 

It turned out, the choice was never really his. He came back to the living room to find that James had already filched a pillow and spare blanket from a closet somewhere. Steve’s mouth twitched in grief, but he tread carefully. “You can have the bed, you know.”

“I really can’t.” James gave him a tired look that might have been an attempt at a smile. “His timeline. His bed.”

“Bucky took the guest room,” Steve pointed out, not really sure what he was arguing for. Maybe it was just that the bed seemed to big too be in, knowing he was going to be in it alone. 

James’ expression did something strange that Steve couldn’t quite suss out. “I know you want us all to be alright, Steve. I _know_. It’s just not going to happen tonight.”

“Of course. I know.” Steve sighed. Of _course_ he knew. It didn’t mean he had to like it. “I’m gonna get some sleep. Do you need anything?”

James shook his head, and Steve turned away, because he couldn’t keep watching the way this all slipped out from under him. He headed for the bedroom, where at least he didn’t have to put on a brave face, but he’d barely made it to the hallway when James called his name. 

“You know I’m not _leaving_ , right?” James asked, as soon as Steve met his eye. He was sprawled out the length of the couch, looking surprisingly comfortable under the circumstances. “Because I’m not.”

“I know.” He hadn’t known, but the lie came easily. It was better to attribute his lack of response to already knowing than to admit that it didn’t make him any less raw. “Goodnight, James.”

He told himself he wasn’t fleeing, but Steve headed to the bedroom before James could say anything else. As he feared, the bed felt like it stretched on forever without company. Steve hadn’t realized how much he’d come to take Bucky’s presence for granted in the moments like this until he was without it. The pillow he clutched to his chest was a poor substitute, but he closed his eyes, and tried to shove himself towards slumber. 

Steve didn’t know how long he laid there, staring at the city lights through the thin slats of the half closed blinds. An hour passed, or maybe two, and things were so quiet, the whole apartment could have been empty, instead of just the bedroom. He was fitfully near sleep when he heard the faint creak of the guest room door, but he didn’t allow himself to think much of it. Bucky probably just needed a glass of water or something. 

He couldn’t hear Bucky’s footsteps, so Steve settled in the blankets again and tried to get to sleep. It would be better tomorrow. It had to be better tomorrow. 

It wasn’t footsteps Steve heard that pulled his attention again. It was the way something blocked what little light there was on the other side of Steve’s closed eyelids. _Bucky_ , his mind automatically filled in, because James was good, but not _that_ good. He’d never had to be. 

If he’d hoped Bucky would crawl into bed and be done with it, he didn’t dare expect it to happen. There was nothing surprising about the way the light returned. Steve sighed, assuming Bucky had left again, but when he opened his eyes, he could just make out the top of Bucky’s head. Bucky was sitting, back pressed to the side of the bed. It was distant and strange, but present in a way Bucky hadn’t been before. 

The moment felt like it deserved silence, as if speaking would break whatever spell had brought Bucky near to him again. He let his fingers skim along the sheets towards the edge of the bed, as if this might be an apparition, but Bucky’s hair was soft under his fingers when he reached it. Bucky reached across to grab his hand, and Steve froze, thinking it was meant to stop him, and maybe it was, but not in the way he thought. Bucky didn’t let go. Instead, he tilted his head back against the side of the mattress, and Steve felt more than saw the way their fingers laced together against Bucky’s shoulder. 

Sleep came a little easier after that. It couldn’t have been terribly comfortable, but Bucky stayed, thumb idly stroking Steve’s hand. The quiet was a little less awful with Bucky to anchor him, and the the last thing he remembered as the dark crowded out consciousness was the steadiness of Bucky’s breathing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find us as [Riakomai](http://riakomai.tumblr.com/), [Hopeless--Geek](https://hopelessartgeek.tumblr.com), and [DrowningByDegrees](http://drowningbydegrees.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!


	3. Chapter 3

For days, they tiptoed around each other. No one left, not physically, but the balance they kept was a delicate one, and James found it easier not to engage. In the beginning, he’d been too shocked to delve into why his other self was so different, and now his refusal to get to know Bucky was simply bitterness. His partner had someone else, someone James didn’t get a say in one way or another. It didn’t matter that they were technically the same person. What mattered was that emotional real estate was not something he had volunteered to share. 

Even if he’d wanted to engage with Bucky, he had a strong sense that his doppelganger was every bit as sour about this situation as he was. It wasn’t what Bucky said so much as what he didn’t. James could count on one hand how many full sentences Bucky had spoken to him.

The couldn’t go on like this, though. If Tony was right about the risks and this was permanent, they were going to have to find a way to share. Heaven knew he didn’t like it, but he wasn’t about to put Steve in a position to have to make a choice. It would be cruel in a way James couldn’t bring himself to be. Even if he could, there was a depressingly good chance the choice wouldn’t be him. 

Maybe what they needed was a distraction. Something to… bond over, as much as he was ever likely to bond with Bucky. It pulled oddly at him in a way, these brief moments where he looked and Bucky and saw something he didn’t recognize. James had so rarely met a problem he couldn’t charm his way through. He certainly hadn’t muddled through the war _brooding_. Bucky was disconcertingly quiet though, and Steve wasn’t much better. They treated their circumstances like something to survive, but James didn’t want to survive. He wanted to live, for _all_ their sakes. 

Since Bucky and Steve made no move to reorient themselves, James resolved to close the distance between them. He and Bucky didn’t go to the same cafe on the weekends, but surely they had _something_ in common after all this. There was a life they’d both lived to some point, and though he wasn’t quite certain where he and Bucky diverged, it was sometime after the beginning of the war. New York had changed, but not entirely.

On the sixth day since he’d been ripped from his timeline, James waited on the couch where he’d taken up permanent residence. Steve emerged from the bedroom, all sleep tousled and lovely in a way James ached to touch, even if he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Instead, he fixed a smile on Steve. “When’s the last time you went to Coney Island?”

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, mouth twisting in a way James couldn’t quite decipher. “Not since before the war.”

“Good.” It was good. They’d all be on equal footing. No recent memories to cloud what they were trying to manage now. “We should fix that.”

Watching Steve was the strangest thing. Most of the time, he was consistent. Whatever had changed James in the other timeline, Steve had perhaps adapted a little better. That’s what James had thought, only now he wondered if that wasn’t it at all. Maybe Steve just hid the damage better without physically broken pieces on display. His expression flip flopped between pleased and concerned, and the only thing more frustrating than the inconsistent response, was not understanding why.

“Look, if it’s a bad idea,” James started, his briefly good mood puttering out. 

“It’s not a bad idea. I’m just not sure if it’s…” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly stalling for time. 

“It sounds perfect,” Bucky cut in, soft but insistent. It made James jump, because he hadn’t even realized his other self was up. Half asleep and holding a blanket around himself, it was hard to find him as intimidating as he seemed the rest of the time. With his hair mussed, and his eyes still a little unfocused, Bucky looked downright approachable. 

James wasn’t sure he and Bucky had ever been in agreement about anything. Given the way Steve was looking at Bucky, James wasn’t quite sure that agreement was honest either, but he’d take it. If he had to take another day locked up in this apartment in relationship purgatory, he was going to scream. 

“You sure?” he made himself ask anyway. “Steve looked like someone died there, or something.”

“It’ll be fine.” Bucky turned to look at him, gaze suddenly quite sharp and awake. The pause felt strange and unwieldy. He shifted, metal arm emerging from the blanket he was wrapped in so that he could wiggle his fingers. The playful gesture was at odds with the flat tone of Bucky’s voice. “He’s just worried about my arm with all that sand.”

Something about the exchange left James uneasy, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. Bucky had tucked away his metal hand again, shuffling off to the kitchen, seemingly paying them no mind at all. James glanced over at Steve, who was watching Bucky, and he had the strangest feeling he’d tread somewhere he shouldn’t. It was a ridiculous though, of course. What could possibly be wrong with Coney Island?

X

Whatever was wrong, it didn’t keep them from going. Steve relented, and if Bucky had any opinion on the matter, he didn’t say so. It was still off, sideways in some sense that James couldn’t put his finger on, but it had to be better than the way they had stayed in the apartment, ready to combust. 

By the time they reached the parking lot, Steve had brightened up considerably. No matter how much James wished he could be angry with Steve for their predicament, he couldn’t help but be pleased that his partner looked less miserable. He leaned across the space between their seats once they’d parked, grinning at Steve as he pointed through the windshield. “Hey look! The Cyclone is still here.”

“They renovated a couple of years ago.” Bucky’s soft voice startled James. In the moment, he’d almost forgotten his other self was even there. 

“You kept up with it?” Steve shifted, attention focused on Bucky. 

“Yes?” Bucky shrugged. “I couldn’t remember anything, so I just… read up on _everything_.”

Couldn’t remember. It wasn’t the first time James had heard that, not that Bucky had been inclined to give him any answers. In this context, it left him just a touch bitter. They were here to have fun, not to get maudlin over his other self. He unbuckled, smiling at Steve. “Shall we?”

X

Coney Island wasn’t the same as it had been growing up. Everything from the bright paint and electronics to the clothes park goers wore forced James to stay in the here and now. This wasn’t the place he and Steve had wandered through in their downtime before the war. 

All the same, there was a nostalgia about it, something appealingly home about the place. The entrance was far from the boardwalk, but bits of sand crunched beneath his shoes. They stopped along the side of the main pathway, and James took the opportunity to close his eyes, taking in the cacophony of laughter and a thousand conversations, of music and gleeful screaming, and roller coaster cars clattering by. He breathed in the saltwater breeze off the ocean and wondered idly why he hadn’t thought of this ages ago. How could anyone not enjoy this place?

“Are we going to go enjoy the park or are you just gonna stand there all day?” Steve’s voice was warm and laced with amusement. The tension that had been an almost physical weight in every word he’d said for the last week had all but disappeared, and James was just a bit proud of having been able to ease it. 

“Shut up. I’m _enjoying_ myself,” James shot back, a teasing smile flitting across his lips as he turned to look at Steve. 

Bucky was beside and a step behind Steve, and James almost automatically found himself watching. Whatever Steve’s misgiving had been - and James didn’t believe for a second that it was sand - Bucky seemed alert, but otherwise fine. His eyes flicked rapidly from one spot to the next, but his expression was untroubled. James didn’t really want to engage, but that was the point of this, wasn’t it? Hiding a quiet sigh in the din of the crowds, he asked Bucky, “What do you want to do?”

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly, clearly as surprised by the question as James was that he’d gotten it out. Bucky’s lips pursed, in thought or perhaps tension, and out of the corner of his eye, James spotted Steve watching them both. All at once, and rather startlingly, Bucky brightened up. He didn’t smile exactly, but his expression was unexpectedly open, and the the perpetually serious almost frown that seemed glued to his lips was gone. “Everything.”

Turned out everything was rather a lot. The Cyclone left James pleasantly wobbly both times, and the way Steve smiled as they broke away, James would’ve sworn they were still barely grown ups and the worst of the world hadn’t touched them yet. It was the lightest his chest had felt since waking up in that bed. 

Lunch was Nathan’s, when they remembered they were hungry. Amidst the bright lights and the rides he didn’t recognize, looking at the hot dog stand put him right back in 1943, a few weeks before he’d shipped out. Stand was a bit of an understatement for the sprawling building, open on two walls so you could walk up anywhere and order. The signage was just as he remembered, white and mustard yellow, the blocky font so dated it might have made him cringe if it didn’t feel like home. 

The smell of french fries and hot dogs crowded out the scent of the sea. His stomach growled hopefully as they made their way to the counter, and he was rather glad for the noise that drowned it out. They ordered without incident, and waited patiently, looking around to the deck where tables were laid out. 

“Do you remember the last time we were here?” James asked, nudging at Steve’s arm. 

“Probably not.” It was Bucky who answered, and James was certain he was never going to get used to hearing his own voice coming from somewhere else. He turned his head to catch a hint of a smirk turning on Bucky’s lips, and before he could suss out what it meant, his other self was speaking again. “He wasn’t paying much attention to anything but his notebook.”

James laughed in spite of everything. The tables out on the deck weren’t the ones James remembered, but clear as day, he could recall Steve out there with his sketch book, scribbling out a likeness of the passing park goers. He’d talked around his hotdog for probably five minutes before he had realized Steve wasn’t even listening anymore. 

“I was paying attention,” Steve protested lightly. “Just not to you.”

“Hey, watch it, punk. There’s two of us,” James teased. 

Bucky nodded in agreement. “We might just return the favor.”

This was _alright_ , James decided. This was the best version of them, relaxed and joking and not thinking about the gravity of their circumstances. There was some niggling sense that if they stopped for too long, their troubles would catch up, but no one seemed interested in staying put anyway. They took their hotdogs and wandered down Stillwell Avenue, and it was Bucky who suggested the boardwalk.

“What about sand in your… arm?” James asked, waving his free hand vaguely at Bucky’s strange metal limb. Remembering the odd tension around the topic from earlier, he immediately regretted his question, but it was too late to backpedal.

Bucky snorted, and if he hadn’t suspected it was a lie already, James was sure now. Later, maybe he’d dredge up some irritation about that, but for the moment, he was just relieved that the mood hadn’t soured. Bucky shrugged, heading casually towards the boardwalk. “If a little sand was going to break it, it wouldn’t be much of a prosthetic.”

With that, the matter was dropped. The vaguely industrial feel of Stillwell gave way to rough, beach side grass and a cement round about sidewalk that led to the boardwalk. A short staircase led up to the boardwalk, and despite the way it teemed with people, it was the most free James had felt in ages. The planks were framed by metal railings, but beyond that was a beach he remembered spending an inordinate amount of time sprawled out on before the war. Even from here, he could hear the rhythmic glide of the ocean washing across the sand. 

With shrubby, sharp bladed greenery on one side, and a sprawling strip of sand on the other, there wasn’t much point in stopping to take in any one particular view. They fell into step, close together, with Steve sandwiched between the two of them. While there was no ignoring that Bucky was there, it just didn’t seem to matter as much as it usually did. 

The boardwalk stretched on for a mile, but they only followed to the relatively barren place James remembered Steeplechase Park having been. The parachute jump that had been shiny and new when he’d seen it last, was the only beacon of what had stood there before. It was strange and still and it rattled James; just a little. 

The feeling appeared to be pervasive, judging by the way Bucky’s expression had shuttered. Steve’s brows had knit as he looked up at what might as well have been an oversized headstone commemorating some piece of them decades gone. The mood slipped like the tide, and James was having none of it. They’d come too far to lose what peace they’d found over ancient history. 

Grabbing Steve’s arm, James veered away from the main boardwalk to Steeplechase Pier. It led away from the parachute jump, stretching far beyond the sandy shores of the beach out into the ocean. The crowd was more sparse there, and the echoes of the water beneath the pier beckoned them further. 

Sand and weather had battered the planks of the pier, and there was a damp quality to the wooden railing; as if the wood was eager to be a part of the sea. With the park at their backs, there was only the wind and the ocean stretching on for miles before them, a dark contrast to the brilliant blue of a cloudless sky. 

“It’s different than it was,” Bucky murmured, breaking the silence between them as they reached the far end of the pier. It was almost like they were marooned out here, like an angry wave could sweep them away entirely. 

“Most things are,” James countered, resolutely not thinking of the parachute drop, still and lifeless far behind them. 

Bucky hummed in agreement, metal fingers dragging along the bluntly textured wood. “They had to rebuild it a few years ago.”

“Is this another weird trivia thing?” James asked, lifting a brow. Here he’d thought maybe Bucky had a profound point. He was… sort of glad to be wrong, when it came down to it. Lighter subject matter was a welcome change of pace. “You’re like a walking Coney Island encyclopedia. Is there anything you don’t know about it??”

“Probably not,” Steve teased, nudging Bucky in the side. James caught the small, easy smile Bucky flashed Steve for his trouble. It twisted uncomfortably in James’ chest, but he ignored that. 

“I don’t know _all_ of it.. I didn’t know Luna Park changed all their rides,” Bucky countered, leaning against the railing. There was a relaxed set to his back and shoulders, like he was as at home here as James felt. 

As far as James was concerned, the could stay here forever. The world stilled around them, reduced to the comfort of proximity and the steady come and go of the waves around them. Breathing came easily, and Steve seemed happy here, peering over the rail at the salt water and sunshine. He wished they could wrap themselves up in the tranquility they’d found here and forget all the rest

They chatted about nothing, and James was far too content to do more than casually admire the way Steve deftly steered them away from anything that might amount to comparing notes. The incongruity that ailed them didn’t get the chance to be more than background noise, and James could almost believe that this was the start of something better. 

Almost was such an ugly word. According to Steve, he and Bucky almost got to be the same person. He almost believed he could learn to be happy displaced from his own world. It was almost a perfect day. 

Almost didn’t cover the way their worries found them, hemmed in and far out to sea. They were just turning back when he heard an awful, hitching sound. James turned to catch Bucky, frozen and wide eyed, his breath coming in shallow pants. 

Everything felt slow, like they waded through molasses to get from point A to point B. Automatically, James looked where Bucky was staring, assuming something terrible had happened, but that only confused him more. It wasn’t an accident. No one was hurt. Nothing was on fire. As best as James could tell, it was just a man a little way down the pier, holding hands with his daughter. Surely, there was nothing alarming about _that_.

“Bucky? Hey. It’s okay.” Steve was murmuring soothingly at Bucky, who didn’t really look any better than he had the moment before. Bucky’s expression was faintly glassy, and his jaw kept clenching and unclenching. James didn’t begin to know what to do with any of it.

“He can’t _be_ here.” Bucky’s voice cracked on the words. 

“Who can’t be here?” James prodded, trying to understand what could possibly be the cause of… whatever it was that was happening. Steve was pressed close to Bucky, and though James knew, he _knew_ it was comfort and nothing more, it still left something in him withered and bitter. He didn’t want to watch the way Steve’s palm smoothed across Bucky’s shoulders, but he couldn’t look away. 

“He’s… It’s…” Bucky tried to answer, clearly struggling to get the words out. He finally broke his gaze from the man further down the pier, but it was only to give James a miserably helpless look. “He should be dead.”

James tensed immediately, wondering if that was a warning. Should he have been armed? None of them were, unless one counted the hunk of metal Bucky called an arm. James checked his pockets for something he could use, voice quiet and urgent as he asked, “What did he do? Is he dangerous?”

“No! He wasn’t. He was…” Bucky shook his head, curling almost imperceptibly in on himself. It made him look strangely small. There was a stuttery, heaving breath, and then another, and Bucky forced out an answer, nonsense though it was. “I killed him.”

What kind of answer was that? Was this one of the umpteen million things he didn’t know about his other timeline? Why would he have killed someone who he came out and said wasn’t dangerous? Worry bubbled in the pit of his stomach, that maybe there was a reason they hadn’t told him the truth, but he swallowed it down as best he could.

“Well, clearly you didn’t, or he wouldn’t be here,” James replied. It was a touch sharper than he’d intended, and he could have kicked himself for he way Bucky went stiff in response. If Bucky had intended to say anything else about it, James had probably snuffed out that possibility. 

“There’s an explanation for this,” Steve cut in, his voice soft and even, so steady that James guessed this wasn’t the only time Bucky had become a spontaneous trainwreck. “Maybe he just looks like one of your missions, or maybe he survived.”

“Missions?” James asked, the dread coiled in his belly only rising. He should have insisted on answers before. He was damned well going to when the worst of this had passed.

“He had a white couch. I left him with his skull splattered across it.” Bucky’s explanation was strange and wooden and made James cringe. He wasn’t sure if he felt sorry for Bucky or sickened by him. There was no context, but that was an awfully macabre thing to focus on. 

“Then it can’t be him.” Steve leaned in, whispering something, lips nearly pressed to Bucky’s ear. Whatever it was made Bucky’s shoulders sag, not relaxed, but a little less like a ticking bomb. What on earth had gone so wrong in this timeline that Steve could respond to something so graphic like that? There was the war, sure, but this sounded like something else entirely. James’ thoughts turned sour, and he hated himself for it. That wasn’t fair of him. It probably wasn’t Bucky’s fault, but they’d been doing so well, and now everything had gone sideways. 

“Look. I’ll just ask him his name. Nothing to worry about,” James offered, swallowing down something petty and awful. He needed space as much as Bucky needed to calm down. James didn’t wait for an answer, already taking a step towards the man, only he was gone, along with his daughter. James squinted, but he couldn’t pick them out in the small group of people on the part of the pier closer to the beach. 

When he turned back, Bucky had pulled out of Steve’s grip. He’d straightened up somewhat, breathing only very subtly shaky. Bucky’s expression was drawn though, and he looked exhausted as he scrubbed a hand over his face. “I was so sure it was him.”

“It _wasn’t_ him, whoever you thought he was,” James tried. Bucky barely looked at him, though. Apparently, they were back to silence again, and James didn’t even know why. All he knew was that he was acquainted enough with the creature Bucky had been before all this to know that quiet steadiness was a veneer for something awful. 

For a little while, they stayed. Steve had quietly suggested they ought to pack up, but Bucky had insisted. James wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to cause any further issue, or because he wanted a chance to keep looking for whoever the man was that had spooked him. It all came out in the wash either way, so James agreed and Steve eventually conceded. 

It didn’t take long to catch on why Steve had been so loathe to agree. Bucky was there with them, but not really. He’d retreated somewhere even Steve didn’t seem to know how to reach. Every time James looked over, Bucky’s eyes were scanning their surroundings as if he expected them to be ambushed by something awful, but of course that something awful never came. In light of what he’d said about the man and the couch, James couldn’t help the panicky suspicion that Bucky wasn’t so much a victim of paranoia as he was expecting retribution. 

The sun was dipping low in the sky when Steve again tried to prod them into leaving. There was nothing to keep them here, their earlier peace having vanished. Apparently, it had been long enough to satisfy… whatever need it was that Bucky had had. He didn’t speak, but he inclined his head slightly. It was probably all the answer either of them were going to get. 

“Was it always this bright?” Bucky asked abruptly, when the sky had traded a bloom of oranges and pinks for the deep grey of dusk. They stood on the corner of 12th and Bowery, and Bucky peered up at the ferris wheel and carnival rides around it. There were flashing lights and music, park goers merrily carrying on, oblivious to the mire James and his companions were caught up in. 

Did it matter? It seemed like an odd question to ask, when Bucky hadn’t spoken a word in an hour and a half. James shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

Apparently, that was the wrong answer, because something in Bucky’s expression crumbled without warning. He pursed his lips to hide the worst of the damage, but James saw it plain as day, and Steve must have too. Steve’s hand landed on Bucky’s back again, and for one sick, guilty moment, James wondered if Bucky was just milking this for attention. It was an awful thought, and not the kind of thing he’d have done, but Bucky didn’t really seem to be him anymore. 

It was just his own discomfort getting to him, James decided. There would be a perfectly reasonable explanation, something that would soothe the sense of horror the crept like ink through his veins. The street lamps offered only meager light as they exited the park, but it was enough for a flash of metal in Bucky’s back pocket to catch James’ eye. He hadn’t noticed before, but he hadn’t really been looking. James swallowed the awful lump in his throat, trying not to think too hard about what would make him the kind of person to bring a knife to an amusement park. 

The feeble light that had softened the sky faded, leaving an inky darkness James half wanted to drown in. He’d had high hopes for their excursion, but this was a nightmare. Steve looked worried, and Bucky was reduced to scarcely more than a shadow wearing James’ face. The imagery was sinister, despite Bucky’s quiet, or perhaps in spite of it. Shellshocked as Bucky appeared, he still moved like a panther, like every footfall was calculated. Was that how he’d taken that target down, James wondered, much as he tried not to think about it.Their footsteps were the only sounds in focus as they reached the quiet street near the car. As the carnival sounds faded into the background James heart raced, nerves filling in all the gaps in Bucky’s history with terrible suggestions. 

It was hard to tell if Bucky’s choice to climb in the back seat held any meaning or not. James frowned slightly, but there wasn’t any point in arguing. Besides, he’d spent the last few hours on the back burner while Steve fretted over Bucky. He’d never been interested in anything but him and Steve, and a third party he didn’t even have the option of saying no to had left him more bitter than he realized. 

“Is someone going to tell me what happened back there?” he blurted out after Steve had started the car and pulled out onto the street. Whatever James had assumed about Bucky, the truth felt nebulously worse. He reached a tipping point… and tipped.

“James…” Steve started, still staring ahead at the road. 

James didn’t give him a chance to finish. “No. Don’t ‘James’ me. I’ve been here for days and you haven’t told me _anything_.”

“It’s not my story to tell,” Steve countered with a patience in his tone that made James very briefly want to deck him. “It’s not kind and it’s not pretty, and I’m not going to ask Bucky to rehash all that if he’s not comfortable.”

James barked out a distressed laugh. “Comfortable? Steve. Don’t be an idiot. Nothing about this is _comfortable_.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” Steve sagged ever so slightly in his seat. 

“No,” James agreed. His voice pitched upward, high and edging towards terror. “I don’t, and I _need_ to..”

James ran out of steam. Steve didn’t say anything to that. The car rolled down the street, and in the rearview mirror, James could only barely make out Bucky’s silhouette. The car was quiet in a queasy, eye of the storm sort of way, and James was beginning to think about demanding Steve pull over so he could get out. The whole fiasco was crushing him. 

“I saw someone who couldn’t have been there,” Bucky answered softly, his voice startlingly close. James turned to find Bucky had leaned up a bit in the space between his and Steve’s seats. 

“Yeah, I got that. What I didn’t get was why you looked like you were going to short circuit right there on the pier. What kind of SHIELD mission requires you to blow some guy’s brains out when you said yourself he wasn’t a danger?” James squirmed in his seat, trying to get a better look at Bucky. Swallowing, he waited for the answer that would put his fears to rest. Please, let there be a reasonable explanation for this. 

Bucky’s breath hitched again, and for a second James wondered if he’d somehow managed to get his other self panicking again. Bucky didn’t panic though. He looked away, staring at the floorboards of the back seat, his expression hidden behind his hair. “Not SHIELD. Hydra.”

“Hydra _?!_ ” James nearly shrieked, and Bucky flinched as surely as if he’d been struck. He slumped further back, like a stray animal seeking out the shadows of an alley. 

No. This couldn’t be true. It _couldn’t_ be true. James knew the worst of himself. He knew the awful sense of satisfaction that had blossomed in his chest during the war when he picked off a particularly difficult target. He would swallow it down. Horror would remind him that that was murder. This is war, he would tell himself. Extenuating circumstances. Guilt would tell him that was a human being. They are the enemy, he’d remind himself. He was _supposed_ to be good at this. Still, James wondered sometimes, during the darkest moments of the war, where _was_ his line in the sand . If there was something more horrifying than knowing his other self had found that line, then had _crossed_ it, James didn’t know and didn’t want to.

“Why the hell would you take up with them?” James meant it to come out as a demand, but his voice was high and thready, and his heart was hammering as if he’d run a marathon. 

James hadn’t been as stubborn as Steve, but he’d never been the sort to back down when someone came at him. He expected Bucky to fight back. He expected to be met steel for steel, only that wasn’t what happened at all. Bucky went entirely still, looking at nothing, and it was Steve who answered, the words strained with something James didn’t understand. “He didn’t get a choice.”

James let out a horrified mockery of a laugh, sick to his stomach. Bucky was Hydra and Steve was either lovesick or corrupted enough to be _defending_ him. Shaking his head, he muttered, “You _always_ have a choice.”

Steve wouldn’t explain and Bucky was silent, so James simmered in his revulsion as they parked and headed for the elevator to their apartment. He was good at killing people. He’d learned that much during the war. How many people had Bucky (and just using that name felt rotten on his tongue after this revelation) killed for Hydra? 

Bucky didn’t defend himself, so James could only assume the situation was indefensible. He kept his distance instinctively, as if Bucky’s treachery might be catching, as if he might be his other self’s next mission. The elevator felt entirely too crowded, and James eyes kept flicking nervously back to Bucky’s metal hand, clenching and unclenching at his side. Bucky was sturdier than James, even without the arm, and the metal limb looked horrifically well suited for putting someone through a wall. The only thing that sickened James more than discovering some version of himself to be a murderer was the way Steve reached out, trying to comfort Bucky, and seemingly ignoring the way the floor had fallen out from under James. At the far side of the elevator, James watched the floors tick off one after another. The doors couldn’t open soon enough. 

xxxxxxxx

Steve had never thought he’d long for the occasional fight he had with James, and longing probably wasn’t the right word. It was a difficult thing to get James to stay put long enough to sort things out at the best of times, but this… this was far worse. James stalked ahead as if proximity was suddenly poisonous, and the moment they were through the door, Steve had to grab Bucky’s wrist to keep him from bolting. He almost let go on account of the way Bucky winced when James put more space between them, but if they didn’t sort this out now, there was no telling if they would. Only when he was sure Bucky wasn’t going to flee immediately did Steve let go. He scrubbed a hand over his face, grasping for an opening. “This has to stop.”

“You can’t seriously just expect me to be fine with this.” James snapped and Bucky grimaced and Steve’s heart twisted in his chest. 

“This is the hand we were dealt, and I don’t know about you, but the alternatives don’t seem great.” Steve murmured, dredging up calm from somewhere. Shouting about it wasn’t going to fix this. 

“Are you even listening to yourself?” James asked, pacing at the far end of the room. Steve was no fool. He had a good idea of what James was thinking, and even as he worked through how to approach this, he was already considering what it would take to just get Bucky to _talk_. 

Steve sighed, frustrated by both of them. Heaven help him, he loved both incarnations of James Buchanan Barnes, but right now, he rather wanted to strangle them both. “He’s _you_ , James. You’re not as different as you think.”

“Do you think I don’t _know_ that?,” James spat. His expression cracked on something fragile, and Steve had no idea how to go about easing the panic that made James shudder where he stood. “I’m not afraid because I look at this nightmare Hydra version of myself and can’t buy it. The problem is that I _can_.”

“It’s not that simple.” Steve started, but James’ admission twisted painfully in his gut. He shot a desperate look at Bucky, who was empty eyed and more distant than ever. It had been ages since Bucky had last shut down like this; so still and and quiet, he might as well have been a statue. All he could do was try again, so he prodded at Bucky, forcing the strain out of his voice. “Come on, Buck. Say _something_.”

“I know what you’re thinking.” Bucky spoke up so abruptly, Steve found himself staring just to make sure he’d heard correctly. Bucky’s voice was halting and soft, as if defending himself was the most trying thing he’d ever done. His tongue darted out, anxiously wetting his lips. “But it’s not like you think.”

“You followed their orders didn’t you?” James shouted, unmollified by Bucky’s attempt at an explanation. “If not, then this line of conversation would never have come up.”

Steve stood his ground, picking up the slack Bucky was unable or unwilling to. “It’s not that black and white.”

“I didn’t ask you.” James hissed at Steve. His eyes never left Bucky, glaring sharply, like a look could cut right through his quieter self. James straightened up, all razer edges and sharp words. “Well?”

“Yes.” Bucky may as well have been waiting for a noose around his neck, the way he said it. Steve wanted to be surprised. Really, he did. Mostly, he wanted to shake some sense into Bucky. 

“It’s not cut and dry like that,” Steve insisted, when Bucky refused to advocate for himself. “It’s not his fault. Not Hydra. Not the Russians. Not any of it.”

“Now it’s the Russians too? What the _hell_ , Steve? How can you defend him?” James’ hands clenched at his sides, teeth baring in anger or frustration. “Is he still working for them? How can you even know?”

“It wasn’t his _fault_ ,” Steve shouted. Nothing else had worked, but both James and Bucky jumped at that. 

James’ expression softened unexpectedly. “Look. I know you think that. I know you have a soft spot for him, but you got it for me too, but _think_. How can you possibly know that.” 

“It wasn’t his fault…” Steve’s stomach felt like it was made of jello, wobbling and unwieldy. He was right back on that train again, watching Bucky slip out of reach. “...because it was mine.”

“Steve. _No_.” Bucky had gotten closer somewhere along the way, flesh and blood fingers curling in the fabric of Steve’s shirt. Maybe Bucky wouldn’t advocate for himself, but there was no doubting he would for Steve. “That was never your fault.”

“What wasn’t his fault? You switching sides?” James asked. He’d gone a touch soft around the edges, though Steve suspected that was more confusion than forgiveness. . 

“I didn’t switch sides. They captured me, and they made me someone else.” The explanation rolled off Bucky’s tongue, forcibly flat in a way that broke Steve’s heart. He’d heard that same testimony, just like that, in a courtroom where Bucky’s fate was to be decided, and the tone hurt just as much the second time around. 

Steve held his breath as James listened, mouth pulled faintly down at the corners. In the quiet, Steve swore he could hear James’ heart racing, and he didn’t envy how this must sound to someone who never lived it. Bucky’s jaw worked, so subtly that Steve wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking, but there was no hint of anyone trying to get away. 

“Did you fight?” James asked suddenly, puncturing the tension that had blanketed them all. 

“Course I did. I fought with everything I had,” Bucky murmured, the first thing he’d really said in his own defense all night. “It wasn’t enough. They just-”

“Just what?” James’ was still insistent, but his voice had lowered slightly. 

“They just erased things until I didn’t know why I was fighting anymore.” Bucky winced even as he said it, head bowed miserably. “They took away everything ‘til I forgot to fight back.”

“I thought he was dead. By the time I found out that wasn’t true, he didn’t even know his own name,” Steve added. Now that the biggest pieces of the story were out, it didn’t seem like such an overreach to give James some context. 

“What, like brainwashing?” James asked Bucky. Before Bucky could even reply, James turned his head, fixing a sour look on Steve. “I still wasn’t asking you.” 

Steve shrugged, too tired to keep arguing the same points. “Someone has to be in his corner. He won’t try to convince you of anything because you’re just saying out loud all the things he’s been shouting in his head since he came home. The only person who blames Bucky more for what he became than you do is Bucky.”

“I’m right here,” Bucky complained, heaving an exhausted sigh. He moved so quietly, Steve hadn’t even realized the distance Bucky had put between them. Bucky flopped in the chair on the far side of the room, removing any real possibility of proximity from the equation. Steve couldn’t really say he blamed Bucky for that. . 

“I’m not wrong,” Steve countered as gently as he could, relieved that Bucky didn’t argue. Granted, the fact that Bucky had curled up in the chair, facing no one, wasn’t any real sort of improvement. 

“Exactly like brainwashing,” Bucky admitted, head bowed until his hair shrouded his expression. 

There was nothing after that for a while, as Steve took a seat at one end of the couch, and James at the other. James had fallen into a pensive sort of silence that Steve didn’t know how to broach. At least no one was shouting anymore. Steve wouldn’t have bet money on James being ready to let this Hydra business rest, but he didn’t seem frantic anymore.

“We should get some sleep,” Steve finally murmured, mostly for something to say that might break the tension. James’ bad mood seemed to have run out of steam once enough of the truth had come out, but what replaced his fury was a sad sort of exhaustion. He didn’t even answer Steve at first, only shaking his head minutely where he sat on the couch, elbows resting on his knees. 

“Steve,” he said finally, something in his tone already constricting Steve’s heart. Steve scooted closer, and laid a hand on James’ shoulder, half expecting it to be shaken away. James only bowed his head further, sounding small and overwhelmed. Of course he would be, given what he’d just learned. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Do what?” Steve asked carefully, shelving the alarm that threatened to block up his throat. There’d been a lot to take in over the last week, and making assumptions sounded like a terrible idea. 

“ _This_. Us. All of us, I mean. Leaving aside my other self being a brainwashed assassin,” James replied, agony subtly bleeding through every word. “I didn’t exactly ever mean to share you.” 

_Take a breath. Think about what you’re saying_. Steve forced himself to consider before replying. It didn’t feel like a fair conversation to have without Bucky, only Bucky was curled up away from them, mostly buried under a blanket in the chair where he’d taken up residence. If Bucky wouldn’t say anything, maybe he’d at least listen, so Steve took a breath and responded, “Neither did I.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” James looked up, but only barely.

Steve sucked in a breath, forcing himself to relax a fraction. Barreling straight into the point he was trying to make helped no one. “Do you love me?”

“What kind of… of course I love you. How could you ask me that?” James’ voice lifted in aggravation, or maybe panic. It was hard to tell which. He bristled like an angry cat, but he hadn’t left. The question netted Steve a faint turn of Bucky’s head, but his expression was unreadable, the way his hair shrouded his face.

Instinct said to meet James emotion for emotion. Frustration pleaded with him to ask James how he could always have been there only to falter now. It was an effort to keep his voice calm, the words measured as he pressed. “Which one of me?”

Confusion edged its way into James’ expression, softening the harsh lines of his face. “I don’t know what you’re asking me.”

“I think you do,” Steve volleyed back. “You’re the one who pointed out that there were two versions of me in here, so when you say that, who do you mean?” 

James’ floundered visibly, mouth parting and closing a few times before something spilled out. “You. Just… just you.”

Okay. That was progress. Steve leaned a little closer hoping maybe this would reach James, or at least lead him to some manner of understanding. “You don’t make a distinction, then?”

James huffed, lips pursing like he desperately wanted the answer to be something other than the truth. “No. Not mostly. It’s all you.”

“Exactly.” Steve forced a small, tired smile, even though smiling was the last thing he felt like doing. “It’s no different than with you. It’s just that with me, both lives ended up in the same wrapping.”

“What? So sometimes it’s you and sometimes it’s him?” James asked, head tilted at an angle. He watched Steve with something like suspicion. In the corner of his eye, Steve caught Bucky properly looking their way, but he didn’t dare acknowledge it.

“No. It’s all just me. The memories are different. Some of it made me different, but it’s all still _me_. It’s just like you said.” Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. 

All at once, James eyes went wide and round, like he suddenly registered what Steve had tried to tell him all along. He hung his head, voice soft with shame. “This must be complicated”

“I keep trying to balance one or the other but… there is someone who has always been there for me just like I’ve always been there for them, and it’s _both_ of you. This might be forever, James, but it can’t be like this. It just can’t. _I_ can’t.” He didn’t care if it sounded like he was begging. Steve was exhausted, stretched beyond his own reserves. 

“No one’s leaving.”James mumbled, waving vaguely at Bucky. 

Steve sucked in a shivery sort of breath. “But you’re not here.”

“It’s kind of been a day, pal.” James huffed out a humorless sort of laugh. “What do you expect?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find us as [Riakomai](http://riakomai.tumblr.com/), [Hopeless--Geek](https://hopelessartgeek.tumblr.com), and [DrowningByDegrees](http://drowningbydegrees.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!


	4. Chapter 4

A late night of anxious, awful company did nothing to pull them out of purgatory. Bucky stayed put, because the minute he stood up, Steve or James would notice him, and attention was the last thing he wanted. Sleep came in snatches eventually, littered with things Bucky didn’t care to remember. 

He woke to the sound of the door closing, and someone rooting around in the kitchen. Swallowing to loosen the dry tightness in his throat, he called out, “Steve?”

“Went for a run,” James mumbled, the terse explanation punctuated by something clattering in the kitchen. Bucky was surprised he’d gotten an answer at all, and settled in the cushions, ignoring what felt like someone had dropped the apartment building on his chest. 

Fractured and faded as many of Bucky’s memories could be, there were things that came through plain as day. They were things like heat of August in Brooklyn soaking through his shirt or the way he’d been an almost unnaturally good sniper from the get go, or that he’d loved Steve Rogers probably even before he’d known what the word meant. It was a pity it had taken so long for them to work out that Steve loved Bucky too. By that point, he was a shell with Bucky’s face, but Steve had kept him around all the same. Who was he to complain?

Only, it got harder to ignore the broken parts as the debris around them settled. The apartment was quiet except for the sounds Bucky quickly identified as James starting the coffee pot. Bucky’s head was far less quiet, choosing instead to echo the accusations James had made the night before. He couldn’t blame his other self for a word of it. After all, James was just voicing the awful truths Bucky had been keeping close to his chest since he’d come home. 

Distantly, Bucky was aware of the telltale trickle of the coffee machine brewing. The scent reached him, warm and inviting, strangely counter to the maudlin sort of exhaustion that saturated his bones. Something old and deeply ingrained prickled at the back of his neck, and Bucky glanced up to find James watching him from the kitchen doorway. He was disheveled, dark smudges settled under his eyes, all of last night’s fury having melted into something visibly weary. 

Bucky looked back, meeting James’ eyes, and his stomach squirmed with some nameless guilt. He didn’t dare ask what James was thinking. 

James opened his mouth, and Bucky was responding before anything even came out. He didn’t interrupt, of course, but he melted against the cushions, hiding from another onslaught he knew he deserved. Only, there were no accusations. James only asked, “You still take your coffee the way we used to?”

“What?” Bucky’s tongue felt stuck in his mouth. He floundered, waiting for the trick, expecting the other shoe to drop. James kept waiting, so Bucky nodded his head. “I think so, yeah.”

Without another word, James disappeared back into the kitchen. Bucky almost called after him that it was okay, there was no need to do anything for him. The moment slipped like oil between his fingers, and somehow speaking up to get James’ attention felt worse than accepting an undeserved act of kindness. 

Moments later, James returned, a coffee mug in each hand. Wordlessly, he set one on the side table, thumb dragging briefly over the octopus tentacle that made up its handle. James pulled away after a second, breaking the strange silence that had settled like fog over them both. “That yours?”

“Yeah. Gift from Tony. He thought it was hilarious,” Bucky murmured, shrugging as he watched the milk in his mug cut swaths of tan through the black coffee. He used the clinking of his spoon against porcelain as an excuse to give himself a second. 

“Course.” James huffed something out that might have almost been a laugh. “Wait, is that a reference to… to…”

“Hydra? Yeah.” Bucky shrugged. “You know how he is.”

“He knows.” It wasn’t a question. James took a seat on the couch, mug cupped between his hands. Bucky watched him stare down at it, watched the way James’ throat worked. 

“They all know.” Bucky felt something begin to unwind in his chest. He sipped at his coffee, just sweet enough for his tastes. They had a thing or two in common still, he supposed. “I don’t expect you to trust me.”

“Why not?” James’ gaze shot in his direction, sharp and suspicious. 

“I wouldn’t,” Bucky replied honestly. “But I trust them. More importantly, I trust them to look out for Steve.”

“We’re pretty much family where I came from,” James said softly. His expression softened with something Bucky couldn’t quite discern. It was nostalgia or maybe grief, and Bucky’s chest clenched in unexpected sympathy. He had made a point not to think too much about what James had lost in all this. 

“Yeah. Here too.” Bucky relaxed, just a little. “You think they’d have let me within a mile of Steve if I’d chosen to be their enemy?”

James didn’t agree, but he didn’t argue either. There was a soft hum behind the rim of his coffee cup, but James wasn’t even looking at Bucky anymore. Long moments passed with nothing more than the even sound of their breathing, and Bucky was beginning to think that was the end of it, when James piped up. “How are you so calm about this?”

“About you thinking I’m some evil version of you?” Bucky asked, kicking himself the moment the words got out. He didn’t want to fight about this. 

“What? No. Not just that. All of it. You didn’t say a word last night about… the three of us,” James pressed, face scrunched up like it still hurt to give voice to their predicament. “You can’t possibly want this.”

“To spend the rest of my life sharing my partner with the person I was supposed to be, who thinks I’m a traitor? Of course not,” The words left his chest feeling raw. It was a bitter thing and it wasn’t fair, and he wished he could take it back. Shaking his head, he muttered, “I’m sorry.”

James stopped in his tracks, looking at Bucky as if seeing him for the first time. Bucky watched James’s mouth shift, brows dipping in thought. “Then, why are you so calm?”

Bucky smiled, a faint, rueful thing. If nothing else, he remembered impulsiveness. It had served him well sometimes, but he didn’t have much use for it now. “Because you are not the worst thing that’s happened to me.”

“So, that’s it? It’s not the worst thing, so it’s acceptable?” James shook his head. “You must’ve got all the stupid because that reasoning is god damned ridiculous.”

“Tell me something,” Bucky cut in delicately. “You heard everything I have since this started. You were there with Tony. What is it you think that we can shout at or hit or change that would undo this?”

“So what? Suck it up and wait for things to get better is your solution?” James scoffed, mouth twisting unpleasantly. “That’s a piss poor solution.”

Bucky was jealous, he realized. Not of James and Steve (though there was some of that too). He was jealous that James had lived the kind of life where this was as simple to him as “find a solution”. Hadn’t this all started because someone wanted to change his misfortune? “I’m not waiting for anything.”

James made a show of sipping at his coffee, and Bucky could almost dredge up some measure of amusement at the theater of it. The whole situation was so much, and humor was better than despair. James didn’t seem to think it was that funny though as he spoke up again. “You didn’t answer my question. What are you _doing_ about it?”

An exasperated huff escaped Bucky before he could help himself. “I’m _adapting_.”

James looked at him like he’d just given a riddle instead of an answer. Time ticked by, heavier by the second, uncomfortable enough to make his chest hurt. The whole situation was just a little bit off and unreal, and Bucky couldn’t quite discern if they were making peace or falling further into unrest. 

Absently, Bucky tapped against his half empty mug, starting at nothing in particular. He didn’t even notice the sharp clink clink clink of metal against porcelain, but he registered immediately that James was staring at him again. “...What?”

“I saw the star on your arm, but I guess I never thought about it.” James was looking at the limb like he’d never really seen it before. “Did it come from them?”

“I lost my arm when I fell from the train.” Bucky didn’t squirm, no matter how much he wanted to. He barely talked to Steve about the things that had happened. Bucky didn’t relish relaying them here. “Guess they decided a weapon that’s missing a limb isn’t deadly enough.”

“You fell from a train?” James’ brows furrowed, and Bucky knew, he _knew_ what was going on in there. “Is that where this all started?”

“The mission to capture Zola,” Bucky filled in, forcing the words out, even though they felt sharp and awful in his mouth. “That’s how you ended up like this. That’s what you wanted to know, right?”

Bucky quelled the bitterness that had welled up. It wasn’t James’ fault, not any more than it was his. To James’ credit, he didn’t seem troubled by Bucky’s sour tone. “I just want to know what happened to you. If our places were switched, you’d want to know what happened.”

“I would.” Bucky conceded. It wasn’t as if he could avoid this forever, but it didn’t mean he was happy about sharing. “If our places were switched, you wouldn’t want to tell me, either.”

James’ eyes went wide in recognition. “No. I don’t think I would.”

Bucky didn’t shut himself away, and James didn’t press. They drank their coffee, and sat in relative peace until Bucky unwound himself, limb by limb, venturing out of his chair to refill his mug. Without a word, he reached to swipe James’ as well, and his metal fingers grazed James’ knuckles in the process. 

“Does it hurt?” James asked, surprisingly getting up to follow Bucky to the kitchen.

“It’s metal, James. It doesn’t feel anything,” Bucky drawled, a fraction more comfortable than he had been.

James rolled his eyes, and Bucky could see him fighting not to snark right back. Well, that was new. “I mean you. Does it hurt you?”

Bucky was pretty sure James didn’t want to know about the way the frame, bolted down to his bones, made him ache when the weather changed, or the way the metal burned him if he laid out in the sun. Even if James did want a crash course on living with a metal appendage, Bucky didn’t feel terribly inclined to give it. He set their mugs on the counter and glossed over the question with a noncommittal wave. “Sometimes. You get over it.”

Silence crowded into the space between them as he busied himself refilling their coffee. Bucky didn’t know how to diffuse it. He didn’t even know if he wanted to. Living with James’s existence didn’t make them friends, and he sighed to himself when James piped up again. “Is that the worse thing you were talking about?”

Bucky lifted an eyebrow, trying to decide how to parse that. “Do you have an inflated idea about how easy you are to deal with, or are you calling me a wimp?”

James’s hands when up again, but it wasn’t dramatic this time. It seemed an unconscious thing, a gesture of surrender. “I don’t think either of those things. I know what ‘You get over it’ means.”

This was dangerous. He wasn’t James. James wasn’t him. They saw through each other anyway, in the ways Bucky was least interested in being exposed. “A few aches and pains aren’t anything to lose sleep over.”

“You lose sleep over something, though.” Bucky froze, and he must have been scowling at James or something, because his other self responded with a long suffering groan. “Oh, come on. You can’t possibly think all that pacing at 3 in the morning is subtle.”

“Unless I’ve forgotten something, insomnia is nothing new,” Bucky grumbled. He knew he was being defensive, but the upper hand had snuck its way out of his grip, and he was none too happy about the result. 

“No. Suppose it isn’t.” James’ lips twitched downward as he shifted from one foot to the other. He was staring again in a way that made Bucky cringe inwardly. 

“What?” Bucky asked, bracing himself for the worst. 

“Just thinking.” James sheepishly rubbed at the back of his neck. “Guess I maybe owe you an apology.”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Bucky shot back. The awful tension of the night before had eased, something softer slotting in its place. 

“What? Why? I got it all wrong,” James admitted, looking very genuinely regretful about that bit. The crick in Bucky’s neck having dozed off in the chair was sorry for it too.

“Yeah. You assumed a lot,” Bucky replied mildly. That James had come around eased some of his own guilt, maybe. Another version of himself seemed like a fitting judge. 

“Hey. Have you looked in the mirror lately?” An almost teasing smile bloomed on James’ lips. “If our places reversed, I bet you’d have come to the same conclusion.”

“Probably.” Bucky hummed, enjoying the way his other self seemed caught off guard. “It’d still be wrong.”

“Which I am _trying_ to apologize for, if you’d stop being a pain in the ass for maybe five minutes.” James glared at Bucky, but there was no malice in it. 

“I can’t let you do that,” Bucky repeated, savoring the exasperated little noise James made. 

“Why?”

“Because.” Bucky shrugged, pushing a forgotten mug over to James. “Then, we might start getting along.”

-

To say that things were better just like that was a gross oversimplification. They weren’t all better, but the awful tension that had made Bucky’s stomach feel like gelatin had eased, and that was something. 

The fragility of their armistice maybe wasn’t so blatant as Bucky felt it to be. When James insisted that yes, he wanted to go for a walk, and no he didn’t need company, some part of Bucky feared they were falling apart as quickly as they’d begun to mend. Steve frowned ever so slightly, but seemed mostly unconcerned, so Bucky took it as a cue that maybe, just maybe, he was being a little paranoid. 

As crowded as the apartment felt with the three of them, Bucky was acutely aware of the empty space when James stepped out the door. He’d wanted time alone with Steve from the moment they’d woken up all together, but now he was too busy ruminating over James’ absence to realize the value of what he had. 

“I don’t think staring is going to make him come back any faster,” Steve murmured, a faint note of humor in his tone that Bucky had sorely missed. 

“No. I guess not.” Bucky turned his head to look at Steve, who had sunk down on the cushions at one end of the couch. He yearned to sit right beside him, but the confusion of the situation was a chasm between the two of them. Coming as close as he dared, Bucky plopped down at the other end of the couch, and pretended not to notice the sad pull of Steve’s features in response. Instead, he sought to ease the last tense thought that was pulling at him. “You sure you shouldn’t go with?”

Steve’s shoulders sagged, and his expression softened, clearly understanding Bucky’s behavior. Of course he did. They were who they’d always been to each other. A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “No. He’ll come back.”

“If you’re sure…”. Bucky scooted a little closer, letting himself just enjoy the moment. 

“Yeah…” The shadow of a smile became a full fledged grin. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Bucky snorted and turned on the television. A movie seemed like a safe bet. “I guess I can live with that.”

Bucky flipped through the movie menu, settling on one he’d meant to watch for ages, only they never quite found the time. He’d just brought up the prompt when Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “What happened to life being too short to watch the same thing twice?”

“We… haven’t seen this,” Bucky countered. Something in him sank, like an anchor carrying his mood to the bottom of the sea. “Come to think of it. I never said that.”

“Of course we did. We went and saw it in the theater at that… That…” All at once, Steve’s expression crumpled. “We didn’t do any of that, did we?”

Bucky was torn as to how to respond. The confusion stung as surely as if Steve had been unfaithful somehow, even though Bucky knew that wasn’t fair. Much as it hurt, the look on Steve’s face broke his heart, and he set the controller aside to lay a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “We never got around to it.”

“I’m _sorry_.” Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know why that happened.”

Bucky wanted to wrap his arms around Steve. He wanted to ignore his own grief and tell Steve it was fine, and mean it, no matter how much it ached. Just barely, Bucky restrained himself. This was important. He couldn’t be distracted by the way he wanted to curl up around Steve and forget the world. 

“I think you should tell me about you,” Bucky blurted out, wincing at his own awkwardness. 

Steve’s expression scrunched in confusion. “I don’t know what you mean, Buck.”

“What I mean is…” Bucky sighed. He wasn’t good at this. He’d never been much for conversations about feelings, and the creature he was after Hydra had even less interest in the topic. Better to bury them. Only, the circumstances were rather extraordinary, and the need to understand outweighed what came naturally to Bucky. “James and I, we’re pretty cut and dry. There’s no confusion about what is what with us, but given what just happened, I don’t think it’s like that with you.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Bucky. It’s just me.” Whatever frailty had made Steve plead his case with James the night before must have vanished, because there was a stubborn set to his jaw Bucky had known all their lives. 

“You’re a shitty liar, Steve,” he countered mildly. He didn’t press any further than that. He just hoped there was enough of the Steve he knew in there that the comment would provoke an answer. 

“I’m not lying,” Steve shot back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s this timeline and that timeline, but it’s _all_ me.”

When Bucky had first come in from the cold, he’d been difficult and nearly unresponsive. Bucky had no idea what reserves of patience Steve must have drawn from to deal with that, but he tried to return the favor now, sitting quietly until he could figure out how to mold his words into a query Steve would answer. 

“I’m not questioning that, Steve. That’s _why_ it matters.” Bucky’s hand slipped from Steve’s shoulder down the length of his arm. There was no resistance as Bucky pressed his palm to Steve’s, threading their fingers together. “Help me understand.”

They sat there, hand in hand, and Steve said nothing. Bucky’s thumb dragged over Steve’s skin where he could reach, silently trying to coax Steve along. It didn’t really seem to be working, given the still, tired way that Steve sat, staring at their entwined fingers. 

“It’s like a bucket,” Steve murmured quite suddenly, the words so abrupt that Bucky wasn’t sure if they were an answer or a change of subject. 

“What is?” he asked, carefully veiling any emotion on his part. 

Steve frowned. “Everything. My thoughts. My memories. It’s all there, as far as I can tell, and it’s vaguely linear. It’s just that they’re so tangled. I reach for the right moment and sometimes I don’t know which timeline it came from.” 

“That sounds exhausting,” Bucky replied, surprised by his own honesty. At least his other life had its own skin. 

“It’s not like a bucket at all,” Steve amended. His free hand rested over their entwined fingers, tracing the way they curled together. “It’s like vines, all spun around each other, and I’m trying to pull leaves off the right one with a blindfold.”

“Does it hurt?” Bucky prodded. He could live with the difficulty this situation thrust on him, but if Steve was in danger, they couldn’t just leave it. 

“No. Hurt isn’t the right word.” Steve shook his head, fingers closing over the back of Bucky’s hand. After all the distance between them, it felt almost scandalously intimate. 

Bucky nodded, pretending he understood. “What is the right word?”

Steve opened his mouth and then closed it. He shook his head just a little bit too emphatically. “It’s just confusing.”

Bucky knew a lie from Steve when he heard it. That was definitely a lie, but Bucky couldn’t quite ascertain the point of it. Whatever it was that was worse than confusion, Bucky let Steve hold onto it for the time being. Carefully, he leaned in, head resting against Steve’s shoulder as they held hands. “Does he hate this?”

“Who?” Bucky couldn’t see Steve’s face, but he heard the confusion there. 

“The other you. I mean, he’s gotta know I’m not the right Bucky.”

“Hey,” Steve replied, just a touch sharply. “Of course you’re the right Bucky. It’s not black and white like that.”

Bucky swallowed his self pity, forcing his tone to come out even. “Then what is it like?”

Steve sucked in a breath and let it out in a sigh. “It’s all… wrong. I think about you, and some part of me feels like it’s disloyal, but it’s not like you and James are the only difference, Buck. I laugh at things I don’t think are funny. It’s like… being on a road trip in my own head, and I never know which one of us is stuck being the passenger.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say, but he curled closer, pressing his cheek a little more firmly to Steve’s shoulder. “Like you’re so fond of saying, it’s all you.”

“You mind if I put on that movie?” Steve’s voice was scarcely more than a whisper, but it spoke of things he wouldn’t say. Bucky felt like an idiot for not getting it the first time. Bucky knew what it was like to have a stranger in your head. The creature Hydra made of him had lingered long after Bucky began to piece himself together again. For Steve, the duality was probably terrifying. 

He wanted to say no. His feelings demanded this one petty thing, knowing he’d spend the time wondering about Steve and James at the theater. Steve looked so miserable though, it drowned out everything else. Bucky forced his head up and down in a terse nod and squeezed his fingers around Steve’s. “Yeah. You go ahead.”

They watched the movie, by some definition of watching. Bucky thought it felt more like two soldiers hiding in a foxhole than than a romantic evening. He couldn’t have said how the show ended, but Steve stayed out at least, leaning into Bucky. Every fiber of Bucky’s being wanted to be cross, or at least hurt, but mostly, he just ached for how difficult this all was on Steve. 

Not that Steve was always terribly talkative, but now, he was practically silent. Nothing Bucky could put into words had much hope of allaying Steve’s fears, least of all when Bucky had responded so poorly to that slip up. What he lacked in words though, maybe he could make up for in action. By the time James returned, Bucky had settled on the one thing he thought might begin to mend Steve’s torn edges. 

Bucky wasn’t terribly strategic, as least not in the way it came to Steve. He understood Steve though, and he understood James to a point, and for something like this, maybe that was enough. The fewer reasons anyone had to stop or think or object, the better, so Bucky waited until they were dressed for bed and Steve bid them both a weary sort of goodnight.

He didn’t realize he was staring at James until his other self looked up from the book he was reading; “Do I have something on my face?”

“Look.” Bucky chewed his bottom lip, carefully considering his words. The peace between them was tenuous, and he didn’t want to ruin it. It was just that everything about how they’d handled this felt ridiculous in retrospect. The easy way out would be to tell James what had happened, but it wasn’t his confession to lay out, and he didn’t want James assuming this was about pity anyway. Huffing out a sigh, he forced himself to keep going. “I was thinking…”

“Well, that’s dangerous,” James teased. If Bucky hadn’t been looking, he might have missed his other self’s cautious expression, like he just wasn’t sure if they’d graduated to teasing yet. 

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a riot,” Bucky shot back, secretly pleased by the way James’ expression softened around the edges. “I was trying to be serious.”

James’ lips twitched, but he gestured for Bucky to keep going. “What about?”

It was such an innocuous thing. Bucky was sure he was being ridiculous. All the same, he swallowed thickly. “I’m kind of over sleeping alone.”

The faint little smile on James’ lips vanished, and in the moment, he looked as unsure as Bucky felt. “Right. Well, then… then don’t.”

“That’s not what I was trying to say. I meant, I kind of figured maybe you were too,” Bucky pressed. The way James’ expression screwed up might have been funny if not for the fact that Bucky’s heart was threatening to beat right out of his chest. It was easier to approach in a roundabout manner, so Bucky fell back on that. “Besides, I know the couch isn’t that comfortable.”

James lifted an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “What? Just like that?”

“Do you have a better idea?” Bucky fidgeted where he stood. It had seemed like a good idea, but maybe this was exactly the screw up he’d been worried about. 

“We’re not a set, Bucky. If you want to go…” James shrugged, and Bucky would have known that fleeting, pained look anywhere. He’d worn it plenty of times. “You should go. It’s better he’s not on his own.”

It would have been so easy to just go. James’ presence still made Bucky uneasy, an outward reminder that Steve had had a life without him, that there was a version of events where Bucky wasn’t all broken parts. Uneasiness wasn’t the same thing as dislike though, and he didn’t wish his own loneliness on anyone else. He waffled only a moment before he forcing himself to try again. “He’d rather have you there.” 

“It’s not what you want,” James retorted. His gaze was sharp and discerning, imposing even from where he sat on the couch. 

“What I want-” Bucky didn’t have a good way to finish that sentence. What he wanted was for this to stop being so complicated. Life had taken on a feeling of moving chess pieces, and it was downright suffocating. “What I want is what makes him happy, and like it or not, for some part of him that… that’s you, not me.” 

James’ mouth pulled in a flat, thin line. “I guess you have a point.”

Inviting James along had already frayed Bucky’s nerves, so he didn’t wait for his counterpart to follow. He padded down the hall to where the door to the bedroom, the one they actually belonged in, was open. Steve had already crawled into bed, half asleep by the looks of it. He was as alert as ever though. As certain Bucky was that he hadn’t made a sound, Steve lifted his head to look. “You need something, Buck?”

“Thought maybe you’d want some company.” Bucky was fidgety all over again. When Steve didn’t immediately say yes, he wondered if maybe he’d read this all wrong, and somehow that was even more disheartening than the possibility of being rejected. Even when he’d barely remembered Steve’s name, he’d understood him on some level. 

Steve sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You don’t have to do me any favors. I know this isn’t exactly easy.”

Bucky could have kicked himself. Here, he was so worried about Steve saying no, it hadn’t even occurred to him how it must look from the other side. He managed a shaky smile at Steve as he caught the faint creak of James’ feet down the hall behind him. “Maybe we’re making it harder than it’s gotta be.”

“I was starting to think we were we were going to have to start all over.” Steve looked from James to Bucky and back again. 

“Start over? And miss the chance to poke fun at you for all the stupid things you’ve done?” James asked, stepping past Bucky into the room. “You couldn’t get that lucky.” 

Steve laughed at that, and after how difficult things had been, Bucky was convinced it was the nicest thing he’d ever heard. Only turned out it wasn’t as nice as the fact that Steve scooted to the middle of the bed, pulling the covers aside in invitation. 

It was coming like home. Bucky slipped under the sheets, relieved to find it still felt right. With the lights out, Bucky could almost forget James was there at all. 

Tucking his metal arm under the pillows, Bucky scooted in as far as he could. Steve immediately pressed back against him, back nestled against Bucky’s chest and stomach, the way they’d always slept. Unthinking, Bucky tried to wrap his arm around Steve, only James had tucked himself against Steve’s front, and Bucky’s fingers landed on his hip instead. 

“Sorry,” Bucky muttered, determined not to let the unexpected reminder of James’ presence sour his mood. He’d invited it after all, hadn’t he? More importantly, Steve seemed pretty content to have them both there. Without a word of complaint, Bucky shifted a little, folding his arm along Steve’s flank instead. 

It wasn’t simple, but sharing space with James wasn’t quite so awful as Bucky anticipated. They adapted to each other easily enough, careful not to touch, let it break the calm they’d found their way to. The dark crowded in around them, as comforting as the covers, and Bucky wondered why he’d let his misery drive him to giving this up in the first place. 

For all James’ joking, it was like starting over, just a little. Bucky had missed every detail. The breeze through the window was a pleasantly cool counter to Steve’s warm, bare skin against Bucky’s. His nose pressed against the nape of Steve’s neck, and there was a sense of security in this that filled gaps Bucky hadn’t even quite realized were there. They were good like this. They fit like puzzle pieces, Bucky’s knees tucked against the backs of Steve’s, and if normally they might have been tangled together entirely, this was a compromise he could stomach.

Steve’s hair kept brushing against Bucky’s closed eyelids, but Bucky wasn’t remotely willing to sacrifice proximity to make it stop. Bucky huffed out a breath against the base of Steve’s skull, fingers curling around his ribs. The room was quiet, save for their breathing, and he let himself be lulled to sleep by the steady rise and fall of Steve’s shoulder .

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Understanding didn’t fix them, but it was a start. They danced around each other a little less, at any rate. The apartment felt less like a prison and more like some semblance of a home they all desperately needed. 

Even Bucky seemed a little better, not that James _cared_ , mindyou. It was just that there was something heartbreaking about the way that, even when he almost smiled, Bucky looked rather like someone resigned to the gallows. 

It wasn’t any lingering tension that made Bucky’s invitation so surprising. It was just that James wasn’t sure he’d heard Bucky ask for anything since he’d gotten here. That his company would be the thing Bucky would start with was… well, it was something.

“You should come. Steve likes it there.” That Bucky was fighting some internal battle to get the invitation out was obvious, but James couldn’t quite tell what factions were warring. There was a hollowness there that James didn’t entirely know how to parse, and the rest of Bucky’s explanation caught him entirely off guard. “The Steve I know likes it, anyway.”

Self doubt. Now there was an emotion James could relate to. It was an insidious thing, and as impervious as James was to it on the outside, it often crept through him like smoke when the world got too quiet and he was alone. He’d never acknowledge that, of course. His ego couldn’t take it, and he doubted Bucky would appreciate anything that smacked even a little bit of pity. It was enough to get him to agree, though. 

James was willing to bet that in his timeline, Steve had about as much knowledge of the Met Cloisters as he did. James had never even heard of the thing. Quiet wasn’t usually high on their list of priorities. This Steve, who wasn’t exactly his, responded entirely differently. James watched the tension ease from Steve’s broad shoulders, and kicked himself for not noticing it was there to begin with. Steve shouldn’t have had to tell him.

Whatever James had expected out of the Cloisters, this wasn’t it. He was interested in plenty of museum appropriate topics, by his own estimation. Medieval architecture just wasn’t one of those topics. They entered the lobby, so convincingly modeled after an ancient cathedral, that even the oppressive hush James had always associated with old churches hung in the air. Yellowish stone walls and floors warmed the light that slanted in through the windows just beneath the ceiling, but even in the brightness of daylight, the whole place felt heavy. 

The solace he suspected Bucky found here was just discomfort to James. The first chapel they wandered into was more sparse than the main hall. The windows were fewer and hopelessly out of reach, and the room was so empty, James half expected someone to come out and slam the door at their backs, imprisoning them for the rest of time. It was an unreasonable notion, but the hush of the room was eerie, and present company wasn’t helping. 

There was little to look at aside from a couple of statues on pedestals, but neither Bucky nor Steve seemed to care. At a loss for what he was supposed to find mesmerizing here, James reluctantly turned his attention to the room’s other occupants. Steve’s expression went soft around the edges as Bucky nudged against him, such a fleeting, casual gesture of affection that James almost missed it. Something clenched tightly under his ribs. 

The inner sanctum gave way to something else eventually, and James let out a relieved sigh. Steve didn’t appear to notice, but Bucky glanced over, the corner of his mouth pulling ever so slightly down. Was that concern? James hadn’t quite expected that, though maybe it shouldn’t have been entirely surprising. 

They stepped out into the first cloister, the bleary chapel light traded for sunshine and welcome shade of the roofing overhead. Bricks stretched out under their feet, deep red and familiar, and the grey toned pillars and walls reminded James of a forgotten castle. Open archways lined the atrium itself, and within their confines flowers bloomed. They drew his eye, a smattering of purple and pink against the brilliant green backdrop of bushes and trees. 

Even outside, the sounds of the city fell away. There were so few people, James could almost imagine that the whole world had ceased beyond the confines of the exhibit. That wasn’t such a terrible notion. 

“What do you think?” Steve interrupted James’s thoughts. If there had been any question as to whether his impression of the place was shared, Steve laid that to rest. His voice was soft, even out here in the open, as if speaking any louder might somehow taint the peace found here. 

“I think…” James paused, not wanting to lie. Steve would just see through him anyway. It wasn’t an entirely terrible venture, and he clung to that, hoping it would be enough. “I see why you like it.”

“That might be the most diplomatic thing you’ve said all week,” Steve teased, his voice never rising beyond hushed, even tones. 

That was about the time James glanced past Steve to see that Bucky had taken a seat on the ledge beneath one of the arches. There was room for three, maybe, if they squeezed. Only, sitting there with the two of them felt strangely intrusive. James didn’t think he could stand just sitting anyway, so he smiled perhaps just a touch too brightly and squeezed Steve’s shoulder. “I’m going to go have a look around.”

He was off before Steve could protest, and before Steve could take one look and see right through him. James rounded a corner and then another before he glanced through the arches to find Steve had gone to sit with Bucky. Good. That was… that was probably good. They found something here that James didn’t need. Most days, he’d have prided himself on fortitude of some manner, but at the moment he just felt hamstrung. 

The cloisters were beautiful, though. There was no denying that. James lost himself to it just a little, closing his eyes where he stood on the cobbled walkway and listening to the rush of water from the fountain. It drowned out everything, and James had never felt so beautifully insignificant. 

James opened his eyes in exactly the wrong direction. The sunlight made him squint and turn his head a little, bringing Steve and Bucky back into view. They weren’t doing much, which was probably the point, but the pieces slotted together, and James read a century into every breath they took. 

He’d been so caught up in the life he remembered and how strange and wrong this other him was, that he’d all but disregarded how fragmented Steve himself had to be. Even after Steve told him, he’d seen parts as they applied to him. It was easier to believe that maybe this whole world was the wrong one, but Steve was his. The horror of his other self’s past only made it easier to hold on to that lie despite everything. But the truth sprang from the center of the archway where they sat. James’s reality wasn’t the only one happening right now. 

Some things about Bucky were written so plainly across his features, James suspected they were permanently painted on. It was hard to get a read on him (and really, Bucky’s explanation left James with as many questions as answers.), but he wore resignation and a quiet sort of weariness like they were unshakable fixtures that the rest of Bucky was framed around. For the first time since he’d woken up in bed with an extra person, James saw that Bucky wasn’t the only one. Steve was calm, and no longer so tense looking, but even sitting in the sunlight, surrounded by so much beauty, he seemed tired. 

Bucky slotted into spaces James simply didn’t know how to fill. They didn’t look to be carrying on a conversation. James didn’t see a single word pass between them. What he saw was the subtle way that Bucky’s flesh and blood fingers slid between Steve’s, their hands nestled in the scant space between their thighs. They’d both leaned in a little, leaving them shoulder to shoulder with their heads resting together. 

Somewhere in the quiet, Bucky smiled, looking genuinely happy for what James was pretty sure was the first time since this mess had started. It was lovely and awful. James loathed that happiness that he didn’t understand, and loathed himself more for being so bitter because he had no right to be. Either they both belonged here, or neither one of them did, and it wasn’t exactly Bucky’s fault that James felt so far out of his element. This must have been what Bucky felt like in the aftermath of their failed trip to Coney Island. The realization left James sucking in a sharp breath, the idea sitting like rot in his stomach. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By all accounts, things were getting better, but better didn’t exactly mean easy. It wasn’t as if getting along meant the tension and painful awkwardness between them all vanished entirely. Grocery shopping felt like a selfish sort of thing to do, but honestly, he relished the space to breathe. 

Despite how much things had improved, some part of him half expected to come home and find things had gone sideways all over again. Someone would be shouting or sulking or… something. 

Only, none of that was true. Bucky and James were in the same room. They were on the same piece of furniture. Not only was no one dead or dying, but the both of them seemed perfectly content to share space. The telltale bunching of Bucky’s shoulders when he was stressed was nowhere to be seen, and James practically looked _happy_.

“Did I miss something?” he blurted, eyebrows arching up in surprise. 

“Could be,” Bucky replied absently, nose buried in a book. 

“Guess you’ll never know.” James smiled slyly at Steve over his shoulder. 

James’ and Bucky’s newfound camaraderie was equal parts relieving and terrifying. Mostly though, it was relieving. He’d rather they were ganging up on him like this, than lashing out at each other. Whatever he’d missed, Steve was glad it had happened. 

“I was thinking about what to do for dinner,” Steve started, changing the subject now that it was clear nothing had exploded in his absence. 

“Pizza,” James replied, though it sounded more like a demand than a request. 

“And a movie,” Bucky added, still not bothering to look up from whatever he was reading. 

“...Really?” Usually things that sounded too good to be true were, but James and Bucky both seemed perfectly content with the idea. Maybe they were finally on their way to finding a sense of normalcy in all this. 

X

It turned out that pizza and a movie was difficult, though not for any of the reasons Steve worried about. The three of them had settled in easily enough, Steve wedged between James and Bucky on the couch. They managed pizza and part of the movie, and it wasn’t until halfway through that anything changed. 

Picking randomly off Netflix was always a crapshoot, but Starship Troopers wasn’t really Bucky’s brand of sci-fi at all. They really only kept watching out of sheer stubbornness. Steve and Bucky did, anyway. James had dozed off, curled up against Steve’s right side. 

Eventually, Steve caught on that Bucky wasn’t really watching either. Every time Steve glanced over, Bucky was watching him, and by the last bit of the movie, it was impossible to concentrate. Someone was shooting bug aliens on the screen, but Steve turned his head to properly look at Bucky. “What?”

“Just thinking.” Bucky’s brows furrowed, gaze flicking from Steve’s eyes to his lips and back again. “Can’t remember the last time I kissed you.”

“Having memory problems?” Steve teased, hoping to buoy Bucky’s mood before it got the chance to slip. 

“Shut up. I’m trying to be nice.” Bucky smiled though, shaking his head. “Been so busy being worked up over everything, I keep forgetting to just be happy I got you.”

Steve liked to think he had something eloquent to say to that. He also liked to think he’d have gotten it out if only Bucky had given him the chance. No one could possibly fault him for the way every thought shorted out as Bucky leaned in except one. _Too long_.

Bucky’s flesh and blood fingers slid through the hair at the base of his skull, palm curling to cradle his head. It was a tender, solid presence that Steve had sorely missed. The world was briefly reduced to the steady in and out of Bucky’s breathing, and they way his eyelashes fanned across his skin in the fluctuating light of the movie. 

There was no looking after that. Bucky’s mouth slotted gently against his, plush and pliant and utterly welcome. Steve could do nothing but melt as Bucky chastely pulled at his bottom lip. His heart was in his throat, and his free hand curled in the front of Bucky’s shirt, desperate to keep him close. 

Bucky broke the kiss eventually, grinning at the way Steve’s breath hitched with the loss of contact. They stayed close, forehead to forehead. It had been entirely too long since they’d had even this, and he’d _missed_ it.

Steve was just thinking about closing the scant distance between his mouth and Bucky’s. He suspected Bucky was being restrained out of respect for James, so when he tilted his chin forward, it was a soft, largely innocent thing. Only the way Bucky’s fingers curled in his hair betrayed the impact it was having. 

A sound to Steve’s right nearly had him jumping out of his skin as James cleared his throat. Bucky rocked backwards as if he’d been burned, wide eyed and guilty looking. 

“Oh _relax_. I’m not going to die just ‘cuz you two were kissing.” James shook his head. “If you’re gonna bother, at least do it right.”

Steve might have asked for some clarification on the matter, but he never got much of a chance. James hands clutched roughly at his shirt, and the moment Steve turned his head, James’ lips pressed forcefully against his. Steve’s eyes went wide in surprise, but he melted against James, lips parting in invitation. He couldn’t tell if it was enthusiasm or jealousy, but intent had no impact on the way James’ tongue licked into his mouth. He’d missed this too, the way it felt to be pressed so close together, the spark of something wanting that skittered down his spine. 

It wasn’t the sort of thing that could last, no matter how much he instinctively wanted it to. A mostly private gesture of affection was one thing, and this was something else. Bucky was right there, and no matter how much Steve ached for this to just be easy, it wasn’t. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss, lifting his chin to make it harder for James to follow him. 

James didn’t try to kiss Steve again. He sat back, looking a little unimpressed. “What, so it’s only okay when he does it?”

“That was _not_ the same thing,” Steve shot back, trying to catch this before it escalated. Again. Independently, both versions of Bucky were wonderful. Together, they were frequently exhausting. “That was-”

“Adapting,” James replied, only he wasn’t looking at Steve. His eyes were fixed on Bucky instead, sharp and accusatory about something Steve wasn’t sure he understood.

“I meant trying to get along with you when I said that,” Bucky grumbled coolly. It was a tone Steve knew all too well, and he hated himself for the hurt it was almost certainly masking. 

“Your version of things isn’t the only one.” There was something strange and sharp couched in in the even tone of James’ voice. “Besides, you can’t seriously want to just play roommates forever.”

“No. Course not.” Bucky’s mouth pulled faintly down at the corners, but he didn’t expound from there. Instead, he looked expectantly at Steve. “But I don’t know that jumping in is the best way to go about it.”

“You said you weren’t prepared to share,” Steve ventured. Whatever they did, wherever this went, he refused to make things worse. 

“I wasn’t. I’m pretty sure that’s something we’ve all got in common, but them’s the breaks.” James shrugged, not quite looking at anyone. 

Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Bucky spoke up before he could. “He’s… right, I think.”

He couldn’t quite hide his surprise, brows rising as he looked at Bucky. “How do you mean?”

Bucky huffed out a mirthless laugh. “What do you think is going to happen when you start having to choose one or the other?”

“That’s not… I’m not choosing one of you over the other,” Steve protested, ill at the very idea. 

“Then don’t.” James touching Steve wasn’t a surprise. James pushing Steve towards Bucky very much was. He turned his head, searching James’ expression for a hint of doubt. James rolled his eyes when he caught it, waving Steve off with his free hand. 

Bucky was already watching Steve when he finally worked up the nerve to look. Bucky’s jaw was clenched ever so slightly. It might have been discomfort or simply nerves in response to a new situation, and Steve hated that he didn’t know. 

“Is it alright if I kiss you?” Bucky’s voice was barely more than a whisper. The question caught Steve off guard, but he’d known Bucky practically forever, and this timeline’s version plenty long enough to know what was really being asked. 

Steve was in over his head, but maybe that was alright. It was going to be every bit as overwhelming in a week or a month or a year as it was right now. Steve took a breath. His reticence had nothing at all to do with a lack of desire. Searching Bucky’s expression, he answered Bucky with a question of his own. “Do you want to?”

For his effort, Bucky gave him the faintest smile. “...Yeah.”

Ignoring how strange it felt with James so close behind him, Steve leaned in, closing most of the distance between them in invitation. Bucky hesitated, and for a second, Steve thought that was going to be the end of it after all. Apparently not though, because the moment he started to pull back, Bucky reached to cradle Steve’s jaw and the side of his neck, anchoring him there with metal fingers. 

There was nothing harsh or hurried in the way Bucky kissed him, but it was a far cry from the innocent gesture before. Their mouths fit like they’d been made for this. Steve never quite figured out how Bucky stuck such a perfect balance between rough and tender, but the scrape of teeth along his bottom lip was simply intimate. He sighed at the way Bucky’s tongue nudged at the seam of his mouth, the act more of an offer than a demand. 

Steve opened his mouth slightly, but as close as they were, he could feel the way Bucky froze, just for a moment. It felt different than before, an uncomfortable shift from affection to determination. It was a wavering line, but one that Steve absolutely refused to cross. He broke the kiss with a soft peck to Bucky’s lips, lingering in hopes of staving off any worry on Bucky’s part. 

“Sorry. I…” Bucky started, stopping when Steve shook his head. 

“Nothing to be apologizing for.” Steve lifted his hand, brushing his knuckles against Bucky’s cheek. Almost instinctively, he reached behind his back, his free hand finding it’s way to James’. 

“I mean, I was trying to sleep before you two decided alien bugs were boring or whatever,” James teased. Steve let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Bucky relaxed visibly too, and Steve could have honestly hugged James just then for that. Steve didn’t want them to ruin what chance they had to be happy because anyone was anxious or impatient. They had the rest of their lives to figure this out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find us as [Riakomai](http://riakomai.tumblr.com/), [Hopeless--Geek](https://hopelessartgeek.tumblr.com), and [DrowningByDegrees](http://drowningbydegrees.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!


	5. Chapter 5

“Have you considered charging admission to your apartment?” Tony grinned at Steve from behind the table where he was working, clearly waiting for someone to take the bait. James stifled a groan, and Steve just gave Tony a flat look. 

“Why would we do that?” Bucky asked, his tone laced with exaggerated indifference. 

“I’m pretty sure with three relics in one place, you’ve got the makings of a museum.” Tony drawled, tightening a screw on some device James didn’t recognize. 

James gave Bucky a look for having encouraged it, but Bucky just shrugged his shoulders. He tipped his head to speak softly to James. “We weren’t going to get anything done until someone humored him, and I don’t want to be stuck here all day.”

That was logic he couldn’t really argue with, and that was strangely reassuring. At least Tony was consistent between both timelines. 

“I’m assuming we’re here for a reason?” Steve asked, arms crossed in front of his chest. That was familiar too, and despite Bucky’s presence, it felt just a little bit like home. 

“Tough crowd,” Tony groused, but he stepped out from behind the table, and over to the display cases on the far wall. “But I’m so glad you asked.”

Tony turned away, punching in a series of numbers into the security panel. Bucky leaned in, whispering to James with a sly smile. “Brace yourself. Last time he pulled something like this, he tried to build a rocket launcher that could be hidden in my arm.”

“A rocket launcher?” James’ eyes widened in surprise. 

“Come _on_. It’s just a tiny one.” Bucky mimicked Tony, fingers curling in air quotes around the word “tiny”. James had to bite his lip to stifle a laugh. 

“Are you trying to be subtle? You’re really bad at it because I can definitely hear you,” Tony complained. James did laugh then, and it only got worse when Tony felt the need to add, “Have you seen full size rocket launchers? That one _was_ tiny.”

“Well in that case, I’ll take five,” Bucky replied with mock enthusiasm. 

“Nope. Too late. That ship has sailed,” Tony bantered right back. The security panel beeped as it gave him access, and he made a point to hold the door, keeping it from simply swinging open. “My time is better spent taking on projects that I know are appreciated.”

“Oh no,” Steve groaned, off to James’ left. 

“If it’s another AI enabled sniper rifle, it was a bad idea when you did it in my timeline. I promise you it’s still a bad idea.” James snorted at the way Bucky’s eyes widened in what was probably horror. “We spent a lot of time arguing about shooting things and not a whole lot of time doing any actual shooting.”

“I think you said ‘great idea’ wrong,” Tony replied, “but it’s not a sniper rifle. I’m assuming, since it looks like this is home now, and you were part of the team where you came from, that you don’t just want to play house.”

That piqued James’ interest. He’d thought about it a fair bit, but he hadn’t known quite how to bring it up. “Not particularly. No.”

“Good. I’d hate to think this was wasted effort.” With that, Tony swung the door open, revealing an eerily familiar uniform. It was a modernized version of what he’d worn in his Howling Commando days, the same getup he ran missions in with the Avengers in his version of reality. Every detail he could think to look for was right. 

“It looks like the real thing. How did you do that?” James asked, too impressed to remember that he was annoyed at Tony. 

“I’m good like that,” Tony replied, the words interrupted by Steve clearing his throat. “I guess your boyfriend helped.” 

“Thanks.” James’ nose crinkled to hide an emotion he didn’t dare give a name to. He masked it with rather theatric suspicion. “What’s the catch?”

“Catch? No catch, and do you know why there’s no catch?” Tony rambled, pulling the uniform from its display and expectantly holding it out to James.

“...Why?” James asked, not sure if he really wanted the answer. 

“Well, partly because the minute your twin here remembers what scissors are, I’m not going to be able to tell you two apart.” James took the uniform, and Tony paused his explanation in favor of a self satisfied smirk. “Besides, I’ve seen his idea of what makes for an appropriate getup. Unless you get a _whole_ lot prettier, I think I can only handle one bondage gear Avenger.”

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve said sharply. James laughed outright, looking up at Bucky in time to catch his counterpart desperately trying to stifle the urge to do the same. 

“What? Come on. That many leather straps… what else am I supposed to think?” Tony shot back, clearly deciding it was the latter. 

“It’s a hell of a lot more subtle than _you_ are,” Bucky pointed out. His lips only barely twitched, but his voice was laced with amusement. “Some of us dress to efficiently complete a mission. You come flying in out of left field like you’re there to make an announcement.”

“Of course I’m making an announcement. We’re the good guys. I think we’re supposed to give them a chance to realize they’re outmatched and run for the hills. I mean, they never do, but it’s just good manners to present the opportunity,” Tony rattled on. 

“Says the guy who flies around in a tin can,” Bucky teased. 

“With _lasers_.” Tony countered. James watched the exchange, something loosening in his chest. He didn’t feel like such a stranger now, and he’d never recognized so much of himself in Bucky as he did in this moment.

“They’re always like this.” Steve groused, shaking his head and giving James a long suffering look. “Come to think of it, you’re always like this. I don’t know why I’m complaining to you about it.”

James smiled, finding that didn’t sting the way it might have in the past. “Probably ‘cuz Bucky stole all my lines.”

“Not my fault you’re so slow on the uptake.” Bucky nudged against James, flashing an impish smile. James decidedly liked him better like this. Sass was a hell of a lot easier to read than the unsettling quiet James had mostly come to associate with Bucky. 

“I’ll show you slow on the uptake,” James shot back. Deftly, he grabbed a gel cooling pack from the nearest work station, chucking it at Bucky’s head. Only, he maybe threw it just a little too hard, and Bucky was just a little too quick to duck out of the way. It hit Steve in the chest instead. 

“Is this really what I have to look forward to?” Steve asked, the question punctuated by an exasperated sigh. 

“Probably,” Bucky and James replied in unison. 

James couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so light. They left Stark Tower with his new uniform tucked away, an outward announcement that he was welcome here. It wasn’t home exactly, but with time, perhaps it could be. A brief, playful squabble ended up with them in front of a burger joint in east Midtown that none of them had ever heard of. They couldn’t fall back on old traditions, but little by little, they could build new ones. This was as good a start as any.

Whatever worries James had had that the place might turn out to be a sports bar were immediately put to rest. It wasn’t that he minded the loud music or cheering over ballgames, but it made conversation difficult. This place was pleasantly quiet except for the overhead music though, closed captioning on the televisions in place of any volume. 

This was nice, casual in a way they were finally learning to be. Seated and scanning over their menus, James commented, “I can’t wait to get back into the swing of things.”

“You and me both. I think if I spend much longer cooped up at home, I’m going to go mad,” Bucky murmured, nudging playfully at Steve. “Not that you don’t make for alright company.”

“You figure they grounded us until we could work this out, or have things really been this quiet?” James asked as he read through the burger selection. 

“I figure our waitress is here, so maybe you should order,” Steve cut in mildly. They were good like this, James realized. Maybe they could even be happy if they gave it time. 

They ordered and they chatted, and somewhere in between, James tried to memorize the details around them. These were the moments he liked best, the ones where it felt like they’d always orbited each other like this. Nothing about the restaurant was particularly special. It was a casual sort of place with wooden booths and tables sprawled across a darkly tiled floor. The bar at one end of the restaurant was backed by colorful bottles, framed by televisions, the nearest of which was showing the news.

_Early this morning, a man and a woman were found fatally shot in an SUV in Brooklyn. Eyewitness news reporter, Lydia Grace is at the scene. Lydia?_ The captioning read, and James was sure he knew that name. Sure enough, Lydia came on the screen, and James would have known that face anywhere, from her sharp gaze to the slightly sour purse of her lips. Her hair fell in blonde waves that James vaguely remembered smelled nice when she got entirely too close to him. It was the only nice thing about her, really. 

It was strange, the things that reminded him of home. He’d barely known that woman, and what he had known, he’d detested. All the same, it lent a single, solitary off kilter note to the way James was settling into this timeline he’d landed in. 

“I thought they fired her.” Bucky’s voice was quiet and just the tiniest bit uneven. To most people, it would probably seem that Bucky was just reserved, but James had been here long enough to know better. He wondered at the distress he caught in Bucky’s speech patterns, and even more at Steve’s obvious displeasure.

“They _did_.” Steve _glared_ at the television.

“Well, I guess some things are consistent. She gave me a hard time a couple of times, accusing us of doing more harm than good,” James offered in the way of an explanation. He hoped maybe it would prompt Bucky into doing the same, because his response didn’t seem to mesh with James’ experience at all. 

“Sounds about right,” Steve muttered. The ire was so incongruous with the run of the mill annoyance of an overly enthusiastic reporter. 

“When I came back, the government tried me for… well, a lot of things. It doesn’t matter now. Obviously it didn’t stick.” Bucky shrugged, but James caught the way his gaze settled on the prongs of his fork, no longer looking at anyone. “She was there. For someone supposed to be just reporting the facts, she had a lot of opinions about my leaving without handcuffs.”

“It got messy,” Steve chimed in. Under other circumstances, James would have been sort of fascinated by the way Steve and Bucky communicated without saying a word. Steve leaned subtly closer and Bucky straightened up, shoulders lifting even if he didn’t look over. Steve straightened back up too, apparently satisfied that Bucky wasn’t in need of comfort. James spared only the barest thought for whether he and Steve reached for each other like that. As long as they’ve known each other, they must, even if the meaning was different. 

“You think we should call the station and ask why they brought her back?” James asked. Much as he wanted to ask what had happened that could possibly happened to rattle Bucky like that, he didn’t. It was probably better to let him have that secret. 

“No. It’s not worth the trouble,” Bucky shook his head, watching the television intently. When James went to look, Lydia had been replaced by someone else. They must have been on to another story, but the tab on the bottom of the screen was still stuck on the headline Lydia had been reporting on. 

The waitress returned, a tray with her, and James sighed in relief. A troublesome reporter just didn’t seem all that worth fretting over when faced with a plate full of french fries. Even Bucky brightened up, and the newscast was entirely forgotten. 

-

They made it home, and James didn’t even bother to hide the pleasure it brought him to hang his uniform between Bucky’s and Steve’s. It was a small, innocuous thing, but it was a reminder too, that he belonged here. He _belonged_ here. They all did.

Maybe, more than any of what James had been angling for, this was what adapting looked like. At the very least, Bucky wasn’t the enemy James had taken him for. They were all still flying blind, but at least they weren’t at cross purposes. And that was progress.

That they were in this together got a little more difficult to remember, the moment romantic ties came into play. They’d settled on the couch again with no real intent, but it seemed there was no version of him that didn’t eventually find its way to Steve. Books and drawing pads were traded for fingers lazily curled in shirt fabric, and James very honestly wanted it to be just as simple as this. Only, nothing was ever just anything with them.

The animosity he’d felt towards Bucky in the beginning had disappeared. It wasn’t hate he felt when he looked up to see Steve kissing Bucky, fingers curled tenderly in his other self’s hair. It was something else, an anxious knot in his stomach that he didn’t want to be feeling, but he couldn’t quite shake. This was his suggestion. It didn’t seem right to be second guessing it now. 

They broke away, only to linger nose to nose, like nothing mattered beyond the space where they were breathing. That was the problem, James realized. It wasn’t sharing Steve physically that had James so twisted up inside. It was watching Steve so very clearly in love with Bucky that left him aching. 

What he’d forgotten was that, as he’d seen in Stark’s lab earlier, he and Bucky weren’t entirely different. James started at an unexpected touch, and looked down to see metal fingers lightly wrapped around his wrist. It was an interesting choice, like maybe Bucky was as unsure of their boundaries as he was, and it served as an invitation for James to not be left out without specifically engaging with Bucky. 

The minute James leaned in even a fraction, Steve curled an arm around his back. Something loosened in his chest, the touch a reassurance he hadn’t realized he’d needed. Of course Steve was thinking of him too. Guilt threaded its way through the back of his mind that he had doubted that, even for a moment. 

He didn’t dwell on it. Dwelling on his own incorrect assumptions wouldn’t help. Steve was here, warm and solid and James’, every bit as much as he was Bucky’s, so he focused on that for the time being. 

Cuddling together halfway asleep in the dark was one thing, but there were no blankets to hide beneath out here, and the lights felt strangely bright, as if they’d been put there just to scrutinize him. Acutely aware of how close Bucky was, James leaned in, tilting his head to bury his nose in the crook of Steve’s shoulder. Steve was warm and solid through the fabric of his tee-shirt, his skin soft against James’ face. It was nice in a way James wasn’t sure he knew how to allow for in this new set of circumstances. 

He took a breath like he might have been psyching himself up to jump out of a building, letting it out as he wrapped his arm around Steve. Objectively, this was ridiculous. Bucky’s presence didn’t negate the fact that he and Steve had been at this for years. It wasn’t new, and James had certainly never been shy. All the same, his heart beat like it was threatening to hammer its way right out of his chest. 

James’ palm slid across Steve’s back, carefully tracing the curve of a shoulder blade, the dip of his spine. He started when he met another set of fingers, played across the the other side of Steve’s spine. His instinct was to pull back, his fingers curled in on themselves, only to stretch out again. Bucky hadn’t moved. 

Another breath and he made his choice, fingertips settling over Bucky’s knuckles. It was a small thing, a tiny gesture, but it felt brave in a way he hadn’t been sure he could bear to be. James didn’t look. He scarcely let himself breathe, half expecting Bucky to pull away. 

Except, Bucky didn’t, and James wasn’t entirely certain how to suss out what that meant. So long as the three of them were together, contact was inevitable, but this was intentional in a way that their occasional touches in passing were not. Bucky slid his knuckles out from beneath James’ in what felt like slow motion. But James only got a second to wonder if he’d gotten this all wrong before Bucky’s fingertips slotted between his his own, the contact oddly intimate. 

Intimate wasn’t the right word, James didn’t think, but it was something he hadn’t thought the two of them entirely capable of. Perhaps it was more of a suggestion of solidarity. Distantly, James was still aware of Bucky’s metal fingers curled around his wrist, the limb whirring nearly inaudibly as Bucky’s grip loosened and eventually fell away. James didn’t resist, but he was almost sorry to lose it. Almost.

“Alright?” Steve’s voice reached him from overhead. He didn’t know which of them Steve was talking to, but he nodded in agreement. Only after he’d done so, did James really stop to consider the question. Was he alright? He… supposed he was, more or less.

He didn’t hear a reply from Bucky, but supposed there must have been one, because Steve leaned back in the couch cushions, arms wrapped around them both. James tipped his head to peek out from behind Steve’s neck, half expecting to be anxious all over again. Bucky had tucked himself against Steve’s other side, and seemed perfectly content to just enjoy the moment for what it was. 

This was alright. This was home. James found himself idly watching Bucky, and still, the heartache he was expecting didn’t come. Bucky cracked an eye open, wordlessly catching James gaze, but he didn’t look particularly uncomfortable. The tension of the last time they’d tried anything like this was far more muted, and when Steve leaned down to kiss James’ forehead, the only response from Bucky was a faint, lopsided smile. James told himself he didn’t need the acceptance, but there was no denying the way it softened the sharp edges of his nerves. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bucky was already settled into the helicarrier when Natasha boarded. She looked from Bucky to James and back again, without even the decency to seem surprised. 

“Rogers,” she greeted Steve as she walked by to her seat. “You didn’t tell me you were starting a collection.”

“It’s just the two of us,” James protested. 

“It’s gotta be at least… five, I’m gonna say five, to be be a collection,” Tony interrupted. Bucky would have cringed, but he was too busy watching Steve recoil as they waited for the punch line. “Capsicle here has just acquired himself the world’s deadliest threesome, is all.”

“I’m really starting to regret not letting you install that rocket launcher. It’d be awfully useful right now.” Bucky lifted his arm, aiming his knuckles at Tony the way he would have if he’d allowed that particular addition. 

“What?” Tony held his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just stating the obvious.”

“Tony!” Steve snapped. It was probably mean to laugh at the way Steve’s cheeks had flushed at that, so Bucky pressed his lips together, doing his best to stifle the urge. Only James seemed to catch on, and he didn’t look like he was managing much better. 

“Wait, is that not what happened?” Tony’s brows shot up in a particularly entertained brand of surprise. “Now, Steve… well that’s not all that shocking, but I really expected more out of the two of you.”

“Oh, Tony, Tony, Tony.” James grinned from where he was strapped into his seat. “Is it really so surprising to you that some of us choose to think with the organ that’s actually made for thinking with?”

“James!” Steve squawked.

“All, I’m saying is that if you’re into tall, dark, and terrifying, this is a completely wasted opportunity.” Tony ventured. 

“Yeah, well ‘tall, dark, and terrifying’ isn’t into you, so the point is moot,” James pointed out, smirking from his seat. 

“Ouch. Now, that’s just mean. Steve, I don’t like this one.” Tony waved a hand at James. 

“That’s not what other you said.” James shot back, looking rather pleased with himself. “Other you made me a terrible AI sniper rifle.”

“Right. We’ve been over this. Best idea. Just out of spite I’m going to make it in this timeline too, only for someone who actually appreciates my genius -” Tony looked like he was going to say more, but it was interrupted by an amused snort from Natasha, who shrugged when every head turned her way. 

“So, your version of Tony doesn’t understand the difference between ‘can’ and ‘should’ either?” There was something deceptively mild about Natasha’s tone. “At least he’s consistent.”

“They’re practically the same thing,” Tony protested, pacing the length of the seating area before finally sitting down.

Bucky looked over at James, catching the hint of a smile that curled on his counterpart’s lips. It was sort of nice, if he was being honest, and it made Bucky think of something . Leaning over, he whispered to James, “Are they like this where you came from?”

James’ smile only broadened, and he inclined his head towards Bucky, as if imparting some great secret. “Oh, exactly like this. I almost forgot I wasn’t home.”

“You are, though,” Bucky blurted out, only realizing what he’d said when he caught the strange look James was giving him. He was pleasantly surprised to find he didn’t have the slightest urge to take that back under further scrutiny. They weren’t… well, he didn’t know what they were, but they understood each other, Bucky was starting to think. 

James’ brow smoothed out, and Bucky could practically hear him turning the sentiment over in his head. He opened his mouth to speak, and Bucky wanted to hear him out, but either the idea of emotional honesty or their current (probably eavesdropping) company stopped him. James shook himself, and smiled just a touch too brightly. “Thanks.”

-

Supposedly, the Hydra base was abandoned, and they’d only been sent to do recon. Bucky didn’t believe that for a second. You didn’t waste half the Avengers on an empty building, no matter how creepy it was. 

In defense of whoever was giving the orders these days, the building _was_ creepy. It looked like one of those deceptively grand houses out of the horror movies Bucky had recently discovered a love for; the kind that looked like a mansion a century past its prime that turned out to be held together by nightmares and ghosts. They landed in a clearing not so far out, and in the waning light, peeling alabaster paint looked like dead, grey skin, sloughing off the rotten wood siding. 

There was a reverence Bucky felt for lost places like this. Maybe it was just that he saw a bit of himself in them. The mansion had almost certainly been gorgeous in its day, back before time had eaten away at the shingles, and ivy had strangled the grand columns supporting a roof over the porch. 

“Do you know this place?” Natasha’s voice was hushed as they lingered in the treeline beyond the house. It was practical of course, especially if they weren’t alone. All the same, some small part of Bucky liked to imagine that the heavy, lost quiet of the place reached her the same way it did him. He couldn’t recall anything about this particular location though, so he shook his head. 

The yard around the house had clearly once been as grand as the house itself. Overgrown, half dead grass dwarfed the cobbled walkway, and the withered branches of forgotten willow trees scraped eerily across the stone, as if they were finger bones and not dried out wood. It was the only sound the wind conjured up in this strangely still place, and Bucky couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was intent to this near silence. If he’d believed the house to be empty before, he certainly didn’t now. 

“Data recovery? Is that seriously what they’re calling this?” James whisper broke the silence near Bucky’s ear as they walked towards the building. It was so strange to hear exactly what he’d been thinking spoken out loud. 

“That’s what they’re calling it,” Natasha answered, but Bucky wasn’t entirely listening any more. He was watching the darkness for signs that Hydra might be watching them. Yet there was nothing in the clearing to indicate anything of the sort. No people or cameras or obvious signs that anyone had been here in recent history. The closest thing to technical advancement that Bucky could spot were the old sconce lights on either side of the door. Even from the walkway, Bucky could see they were grimy with disuse, and two of the panes of glass on the left sconce were shattered. Appearances meant little though, so he kept a sharp eye out. 

The door wasn’t locked. It caught in its frame and then gave with a plaintive groan of wood warped by time. Bucky poked his head in, but the foyer was as silent as the yard outside. The only sound was the creaking of the dusty floorboards under their feet as they stepped inside, and the crunch of leaves that had blown in through the broken window. How ridiculous they must look, the Avengers skulking around an old abandoned house like teenagers searching for ghosts. 

“I’m starting to think someone misread our job description,” Tony commented. Despite the emptiness, or maybe because of it, even one voice was jarring. Bucky bristled, though he wasn’t quite sure why. Nothing changed, and no one came. 

It was paranoia. This was the kind place where the shadows settled like spectres, crowding in doorways of empty rooms to feed on his suspicions. Those weren’t the kinds of monsters Bucky believed in, of course, but the idea nudged at the back of his mind either way. 

They fanned out in order to search the first floor of the house, not that there was anything to find. It was exactly what Bucky would have expected out of an old, abandoned mansion. Lavish furniture still sat in the rooms. It warped and faded with time and peeling from the rain that must have poured in through the shattered glass. 

A light caught Bucky’s eye at his periphery. He had to have imagined it, because the house looked like it hadn’t had utilities of any sort in ages. As Bucky turned anyway, the light flitted out of view, punctuated by steady footfalls. 

It was definitely paranoia. It was an abandoned Hydra property, not a house full of spirits. In an effort to prove it to himself, Bucky slipped quietly out of the dining room into the hall, searching out the light that couldn’t be anything but his mind playing tricks on him. 

Sure enough, the footfalls were just Steve investigating a closed off parlor room. He stepped inside, and, unable to quite shake the worry that pulled at him, Bucky followed. It was just Steve. It was just…

Steve’s back was to Bucky as he searched the room for any sign of surveillance. It wasn’t Steve that caught Bucky’s attention, though. The light sprang to life again, a gaping maw of flickering energy that slithered like a snake at Steve’s back. 

“Steve!” Bucky called out, heart hammering in his chest. He’d never seen anything quite like this. 

“Bucky?” Steve started, smoothly bringing his shield up in defense as he spun around. By the time Steve faced Bucky, the light had vanished, leaving Bucky staring mutely at the space where it had been. 

“Sorry. I thought I saw-” Bucky started, but how was he even meant to explain? It was his imagination, probably. It had to be, it certainly wasn’t any Hydra invention he’d ever seen. 

He never got the chance to finish. Before he could say anything further, he heard Natasha’s voice in his earpiece. “I found the entrance to the base. You boys coming?”

The base. Of course. Bucky wasn’t the only ghost in this place. They fell into motion the way they always did, and Bucky forgot about everything but the mission. 

Tony took the roof, his vantage point ensuring that no one would sneak up on them from the woods beyond the mansion. Steve followed Bucky as far as the grand staircase, now as decrepit as the rest of the house. Steve went up, and Bucky kept walking, finding his way to Natasha in the library at the back of the house. 

“Behind the bookcase? Well, _that’s_ original,” James murmured off to Bucky’s right. Sure enough, there were scrape marks along the wall where the bookcase nearest to Natasha had shifted, revealing a staircase down. It was every bit as unlit as the rest of the house. 

“Whatever they sent us for, it has to be down here.” Natasha pulled a light from, well actually Bucky had no idea where she pulled it from. She started down the steps, James and Bucky at her back, and the whole thing was oddly soothing. Hydra was the sort of demon Bucky understood. 

The staircase let out into a long hallway. It seemed long, anyway. Excellent as Bucky’s eyesight was, it was hard to see very far in the windowless expanse of the underground base. What he could see was familiar though, tiles and concrete that dispelled the strange, sticky veneer of a haunted place that Bucky had felt upstairs. It was sinister, but it was precisely the sort of sinister that Bucky had known for decades. 

“My kingdom for the damned blueprints,” James complained. Bucky could just barely make out the outline of him. “Or some actual lights.”

“The floor plans of these places aren’t identical, but they’re similar.” Bucky had never had much cause to think about the particulars of how a Hydra base ran. Even as the Winter Soldier, he’d been an observant creature though. “If it’s like most of them, the generator will be down and around to the left.”

Natasha lifted her flashlight, the beam stretching further along the flooring. The hall ended in a T, much like Bucky expected it would. To the left would be controls for the facility. To the right, everything else. Natasha held up her hand to stop Bucky and James when they reached it. “Is everything clear up there?”

“Nothing so far, but the upstairs goes on forever,” Steve’s voice crackled in their ears, the signal slightly garbled by the basement. “You need a hand down there?”

“No. It’s all clear so far. Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in years,” Natasha replied. “We’ll see about getting the lights on.” 

“If you’re sure it’s this way, I can find the generator,” James offered. Something clenched at Bucky’s stomach, but he ignored it. Natasha was right. No one had been here in a very long time. Bucky gave Natasha a hopeful smile. “Don’t suppose you’ve got another flashlight?”

“I generally only need the one,” Natasha drawled casually. 

“Well, it’s a straight line. I can manage. I’ll give a shout if I get lost.” The smile James flashed seemed eerie in the meager, shadowed light. He pulled his phone out, and though the signal was useless down here, the light seemed to work just fine.

“You want backup?” Bucky asked, squinting in an effort to see a little further down the empty hall. 

“Nah. Sounds like I know where I’m going. I’ll come find you when I get the generator going.” James waved them off and jogged into the shadows, until the only sign of him was the faint glow from his cell phone. 

Bucky and Natasha cleared the rest of the facility, which wasn’t particularly large, when it came down to it. The place was every bit as empty as it seemed, coated in a thick layer of dirt, without so much as a finger swipe through any of it. Checking in with Steve and Tony only netted them more silence, and that should have soothed Bucky’s nerves, but it didn’t.

They found what they were looking for among the empty, lifeless rooms. Natasha shined her flashlight into what looked like some sort of horrendously ancient control hub. The computer was enormous, the screen nearly lost amidst so much hardware and wiring. This was it. This was the mission, and the fact that it had gone off without a hitch left Bucky rather queasy. 

James must have found the generator, because the bulbs overhead fizzled and then brightened, casting sallow light across the length of the office. Something about the whole place itched, and when he spoke up, his voice was soft and gruff as he watched Natasha boot up the computer. “What could they possibly have here that we don’t already have?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out.” Natasha was already pulling a thumb drive from wherever it was that she’d stashed it. “Watch the door.”

“We already cleared the facility,” Bucky pointed out, mostly just to say something. He was already drawing his pistol as he headed to the doorway. Bucky knew as well as she did that empty hallways meant very little where Hydra was concerned. 

Minutes slipped by, punctuated by the groaning thrum of an ancient computer, and the uncomfortable buzz of old fluorescent bulbs. This place must have been as ancient as the mansion hiding it. As he poked his head out into the hall, he could hear the quick, rhythmic clack of Natasha’s typing. That was progress, he hoped, because this was wrong in a way he didn’t have words for, and the waiting left Bucky feeling like there were bees in his chest. 

“I’m in.” Bucky turned around just in time to see Natasha slide the thumb drive into a port on the computer. Maybe it was less ancient than it looked, but that was an uncomfortable thought too, because what did it say about the rest of this crypt? Natasha lifted an eyebrow at him. “I thought you were watching the door.”

“It’s a very convincing door,” Bucky joked wryly, trying to cover the way his gut twisted. It wasn’t fear. It was just the anxious energy that came with the knowledge a fight was coming. “How long do you need?”

“A minute. Maybe two.” Natasha rattled off, efficiently searching desk drawers while the loading bar crawled across the screen.

Two minutes. They’d be fine for two minutes. Bucky thumbed at the butt of his pistol, counting off seconds. Fifteen had passed when he checked in on the coms. 

“It’s quiet outside,” Tony’s voice crackled in his ear. “Just like last time. And the time before that. Also the five times before _that_ one.”

“That’s a shame,” Bucky teased, hushed but slightly more relaxed. 

“Upstairs is empty. I haven’t found so much as a camera.” Steve checking in put Bucky more at ease. A minute and seven seconds to go and they were okay. Tony, Steve, Natasha… 

“James?” Bucky forced his voice into the shape of something calm. “You die or something?”

“Really? That’s the best you can do? I’m fine. I just... “ The line crackled and went silent. 

“James?” Steve piped in. “Can you hear me?”

“Hello?” James voice cut in and out, obstructed by something. 

Bucky glanced to Natasha, who waved him off. “I’ve got this.”

Forty-two seconds. Bucky skulked down the empty corridor in the direction James had headed in search of the generator. He had no idea what he might find, but he was prepared for the worst. 

“Buck? You need backup?” Steve echoed in his ear, a faint thread of urgency betraying his concern.

“Not yet I don-” Bucky started, but then there was an explosion that shook the house right down to the basement he was jogging through. The concrete rattled audibly, and for a second, he wondered if it might just collapse around their ears. It may not have been a trap explicitly laid for them, but the bunker definitely wasn’t as unguarded as it had seemed. 

Eighteen seconds. Bucky wasn’t sure what he was counting down to, hopefully to Natasha finishing her task and being available to help. He had a sort of ill feeling that that wasn’t what why he was counting. Maybe this wasn’t a facility he’d been to, but Bucky knew far too well how Hydra worked, and they were no safer here than Steve and Tony were upstairs.

There was gunfire overhead, the rapid fire of a machinegun that echoed distantly. Bucky ignored it, rounding a corner where the hall ended in a room. The walls only went up halfway, but the glass that covered the distance to the ceiling was just as solid, judging by the way James was pounding on the other side. A closed door was off to the side, but James was nowhere near it. 

“The hell are you doing?” he called, hoping James could make out what he was asking even if he couldn’t hear it. Crackles of words came back, something about the door slamming shut when he flipped the generator switch. The keypad to open the door had locked him out after his third try. 

Eleven seconds, and oh. Oh no, because Bucky understood what he’d been counting now. Only it hadn’t been about the computer. It had been about the generator, and at nine seconds an alarm went off. An agent who belonged there would have had the access code to just let themselves out, only James didn’t belong there.

The noise was deafening, but it wasn’t the alarm Bucky was worried about. Smoke poured into the room James was trapped in from the vents, already leaving the air a little bit cloudy looking. Bucky yanked at the door to no avail, so he did the only other thing he could think of. 

Pulling back, he threw his weight behind his fist, metal knuckles cracking loudly against the window. It wobbled, but didn’t budge, so Bucky hit it again. And again. And again. Inside the room, the air was well on its way to opaque, and in his periphery, he could see James gasping for breath that wouldn’t come. Bucky swung so hard that the anchors of his shoulder plates wrenched at the muscle they were fixed to, but he ignored the pain, focused only on getting through. 

The glass refused to break, and the smoke in the room was so thick he could barely see James, crumbling where he stood. Shouting in frustration, Bucky kept swinging, and though the glass didn’t shatter, a corner of it popped from its frame under the force. A corner was all Bucky needed to kick his way through. 

Heedless of the smoke, Bucky reached in and grabbed James by the arm, hauling him from the room. Smoke poured out into the hall, but it was already dissipating a little in the broader space of the rest of the basement. Just in case, Bucky called to Natasha over the comm, warning her. 

“You okay?” he asked as James leaned against him, wheezing and looking nearly ready to fall over. 

James nodded, though he looked immediately very sorry to have done it. His fingers curled in the sleeve of Bucky’s shirt as he dragged in ragged, stuttering breaths. “Holy hell. Remind me not to get on the wrong side of that fist.”

Bucky allowed a smile at that. That was a lot of words for someone halfway to dying, so he chose to assume that James was alright, or would be. “If I’d known you were going to be stupid and get yourself locked in, I’d have let Tony install the rocket launcher after all.”

There was no time for conversation after that beyond James alerting Steve that he was not, in fact, dead, and Bucky promising to make sure that continued to be the case. By the time they got upstairs, Natasha was already there, neatly taking down three Hydra agents who had set upon the entrance to the the basement. 

“Nice of you boys to join us,” she quipped as the last Hydra agent’s head connected with the wood floor with a sickening crack. 

“Would have been here sooner, but _someone_ was trying to get himself killed,” Bucky teased. 

James snorted, straightening up as he took in the lay of the land. “Excuse me. Some of us don’t come equipped with our own personal battering ram.”

The comment dragged Bucky’s attention momentarily to the way his shoulder ached, but he ignored it. “They could use some help out there.”

“Yeah. Looks like.” Only James wasn’t headed outside. He jogged towards the stairs instead.

“Where the hell are you going?” Bucky asked as he made for the door, eyeballing what they were up against out in the yard. It had been a yard anyway. Now it was overturned trees and scorched grass. 

Bucky looked over his shoulder just long enough to catch James grinning down at him from the top of the stairs. He was already pulling free the sniper rifle he had holstered to his back. “What do you think? I’m helping.”

Bucky shrugged, conceding that James was playing to his strengths. This was their element, and Bucky fell easily into the demands of the mission. Clear the house. Get outside. Back up the rest of his team. It came to him like breathing to tear through the rickety remnants of the old house, to duck away from the gunfire that came through the shattered dining room windows. 

He spotted Steve out in the middle of the yard, so Bucky fought his way in that direction. There was no cover out here, and some small piece of him would always have Steve’s back before anything else. They were surrounded, but that was alright. Surrounded didn’t scare Bucky much on the worst of days, even less when his back was pressed to Steve’s. He didn’t see it, but he heard the whoosh of the shield sailing through the air in vaguely the direction of the quinjet. It was probably an effort to clear the path and get them out. 

Hydra seemed to have decided the Avengers merited an army, so Bucky kept fighting, recklessly mowing down operatives who came his way. The agents weren’t particularly good, but there were so many of them, that Bucky was sure if he stopped for even a second, he was going to be overrun. The relief of knowing Steve had his back had faded away, but Bucky didn’t have time to dwell on that either. 

He was operating on automatic, playing the Hydra rendition of whack-a-mole. Little by little, they gained ground. Bucky hardly even paid attention, barreling his way through until he couldn’t. He swung his fist and it connected with an operative’s chest, only nothing happened from there the way it was supposed to. Bucky’s knuckles hit with a hollow clang of metal against metal, and the vibration of it rattled painfully through his shoulder. Bucky never got a chance to even process that part before the operative grabbed his arm, hurling him off balance. 

Bucky was fast, but they were too, and they seemed to know all the right ways to get leverage on him. Every move was hard won as Bucky fell back in the grass and rolled away, narrowly avoiding the laser beam of their weapon. Since when had they had a laser gun? He couldn’t remember them drawing it. 

Normally, a moment like this was when Steve’s shield would come sailing in out of nowhere. They could fend for themselves, but they made a good team, and there was something both endearing and aggravating about knowing Steve usually had half an eye on him. Steve was too far away to see though, so Bucky kicked at the soldier’s legs, trying to knock it to the ground. Try being the operative word, because the agent was very definitely upright, and very definitely still shooting at him. 

“Damn it,” he cursed under his breath, scrambling to his feet between shots. If he could just get close enough, maybe he could disarm it. Bucky lashed out, wincing as a beam ricocheted off his arm, and grazing his thigh through his pants. The sound each shot made was a distant nightmare that took him back to the worst day of his life, but he tuned that out too. There’d be time to be maudlin later. 

In the din of the fighting, Bucky didn’t hear the shot ring out from the upstairs of the house. He certainly felt it though, whizzing by dangerously close to his ear to strike the agent right between the eyes. The agent crumpled instantaneously. Apparently, James meant what he’d said about helping. He glanced at the window where James’ silhouette was just barely visible, lifting his hand to his temple in a lazy salute. 

Bucky had no idea how long they were out there, but thanks to Tony, a series of explosions mowed down just about everything around them. They were all a little worse for wear, but a quick headcount suggested everyone has made it out in one piece more or less. 

“Are missile launchers your answer to everything?” Bucky asked Tony. His eyes were on Steve, who sagged where he stood, dirty and clearly worn out, but otherwise uninjured. It was an automatic thing to reach out, offering Steve a shoulder to lean on. 

“Are you still fighting Hydra goons? No? I didn’t think so,” Tony shot back. The rocket booster in Tony’s left heel kept sputtering as he flitted off to their ride home, and as tired as Bucky was, he couldn’t help cackling at the way it threw the suit off balance. 

“Damn. Where’s a camera when you need one?” James was joking behind him, probably with Natasha. She must have said something in response, because James burst out with a raucous laugh. In the moment, it almost felt like he’d never been anywhere but with them. 

Steve sighed and leaned on Bucky’s metal arm, dragging him back to the present. He was going to have to take a look at it later, because the extra weight made him hiss audibly enough that Steve immediately let up. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“What? It’s... I’m fine. You’re fine,” Bucky replied, clenching his jaw against the ache as he fondly nudged against Steve. James joined them then, and Bucky was pleased for that, just because it meant Steve didn’t get the chance to argue with him. Between the three of them, they managed their way back to the quinjet. 

X

“You coulda left me back there.” James’ voice startled him out of his reverie. Across from them, Steve had dozed in his seat, and Tony and Natasha had headed up to the cockpit. “It would have solved a lot of your troubles.”

Bucky blinked, not sure what to make of that. Was it an insinuation about his character? He didn’t think so, but that didn’t keep him from gruffly replying, “I was never gonna do that, and you know it.”

James gave him a considering look in the dim light of the cabin. All at once, it split into a smile Bucky might have mistaken for affection from anyone else. “Yeah. I do.”

“Then what are you on about?” Bucky asked, leaning in to whisper, so as not to wake Steve. 

Bucky hadn’t thought James had noticed his sore shoulder, but he must have. James lifted his hand, reaching for Bucky’s left shoulder only to change course, fingertips resting against Bucky’s chest instead, just shy of the edge of the metal plate. “Just thought you should know it too.”

“If all it takes is a mission to get you two to get along, we’ve clearly been going on the wrong kind of dates,” Steve sleepily drawled. James jumped beside him, hand flinching away. Bucky wasn’t sure how he was meant to feel about that, but Steve was smiling fondly at the both of them, leaving Bucky wishing they were sitting closer. He made do with his foot reaching out, nudging against Steve’s. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find us as [Riakomai](http://riakomai.tumblr.com/), [Hopeless--Geek](https://hopelessartgeek.tumblr.com), and [DrowningByDegrees](http://drowningbydegrees.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!


	6. Chapter 6

"Do you really have to take up the entire couch?" Bucky loomed at the edge of the sofa, imposing and theatrically unimpressed. His demeanor was slightly diminished by the ridiculous octopus coffee mug he was cradling in his flesh and blood hand. 

To James' credit, his lips only briefly twitch in amusement. "I mean, I probably don't _have_ to."

Bucky rolled his eyes, deftly scooping James' ankles up with his metal hand to shove them off the furthest cushion. His obvious exasperation was practically normal, and that... that was good. James hadn't ever thought he'd get to think of anything as normal again. 

James' gaze flicked over Bucky as his counterpart flopped down on the couch. Moments like this, counterpart didn't even seem like the right word. They had a lot in common, but Bucky was still an entirely different creature, softer in some places and sharper in others. 

Bucky huffed when James lifted his feet right back up, dropping them in his other self's lap, but aside from a metal finger prodding at one of them, Bucky made no real move to retaliate. He shifted in his seat, eyes narrowed as he noticed the book James had in his hands. "I'm reading that."

"Yeah. Turns out you have alright taste every once in awhile," James teased, grinning over the pages. 

Bucky's mouth screwed up in what was probably supposed to be a scowl, only it looked just a little bit too friendly to be genuine. He reached out, fingers curling around the book to pluck it away, and James realized he'd never seen the plates of Bucky's metal limb so close. They were clearly well made, shifting deftly as he curled his hand. It was a motion that traveled up his arm, nearly silent as the movement rippled nearly to Bucky's shoulder. 

"You're staring." Bucky lifted an eyebrow, watching James. 

"Yeah. I mean, I know you didn't ask for it, but you gotta admit it's kind of cool," James blurted out, impulsively touching Bucky's metal wrist. The plates fit so perfectly, it felt almost smooth. 

Bucky shook his head. "You say that because you don't have to carry it around."

James remembered the way Bucky had winced when Steve leaned on him before, but a shower seemed to have helped. Bucky wasn't favoring it so much now, and there'd been no suggestion that it hurt him to use the metal arm to push James around. "I mean, I was thinking more because you saved my life with it."

Bucky’s expression tightened at first, but it relaxed into a soft, lopsided smile. “You work with what you’ve got, I guess.”

What Bucky had seemed awfully complicated. James had been sure its existence was tantamount to betrayal for a while there, but he’d had it all wrong. His counterpart had taken the burden Hydra had saddled it with and turned it into an opportunity.Turned out Bucky was a person James could be proud of, no matter what nightmares kept him up at night. 

“Can I see it?” James blurted out, wincing as soon as the words left his mouth. In retrospect, it might have been a little insensitive. He’d always loved technology and science though, and up close, Bucky’s arm was work of art James had plenty of reason to be grateful for. 

“You are seeing it.” Bucky’s brows furrowed, but he scooted a little closer. James swung his legs off Bucky’s lap to sit up properly. 

James followed the narrow metal bands of Bucky’s arm from his wrist up to the red star on his shoulder. He imagined it was a remnant of Bucky’s time with the Russians - heavens, his other self’s past was a mess - but now it just seemed very... Bucky. 

Bucky’s shoulder rounded out, disappearing beneath a t-shirt sleeve. James realized belatedly that he’d never actually seen Bucky without one, and delicately, he dragged his fingers over the fabric, curious how far the metal ran. 

“Are you done?” Bucky was watching James’ hand, huffing softly when it reached the seam of metal and flesh. 

“Jesus. That’s your whole shoulder.” James winced at the realization. 

“Well yeah. I still had most of my arm when they found me. Guess they decided this was more useful.” Bucky shrugged, not looking particularly bothered. James guessed having seventy years to get used to the thing probably dulled whatever Bucky might have felt about it. 

“What on earth are you doing?” Steve’s voice cut in. That was about the time James realized how close to Bucky he was, and how it must look, the way his hand was splayed across Bucky’s shirt. 

He opened his mouth to answer, but Bucky was faster, a sly smile creasing his lips. “Sometimes, it’s better not to ask.”

James choked on his breath. He couldn’t remember a single time he’d heard Bucky make a joke like that, but here they were. Bucky made a show of slinging his flesh and blood arm around James’ shoulders. Steve had to know Bucky was messing with him, but that didn’t stop the rather endearing way he flushed, red blossoming across his cheeks and down his neck. 

Two could play that game, James realized. Deciding he liked this newfound camaraderie, he dipped forward slightly, thoroughly enjoying the way he could see Steve’s throat work. He inclined his head towards Steve. “But you can mull over it while you go take a damned shower already.” 

“Well, if someone hadn’t used all the hot water, I’d have done so,” Steve replied, the words fumbling slightly as he watched James make absolutely no move to pull away from Bucky. When he turned away, it was as if the motion were nearly impossible, like losing that picture was actively wounding him. 

It wasn’t until Steve disappeared that James noticed how close they still were. Bucky’s arm was warm where it draped across his shoulder blades, a surprisingly comfortable weight. It felt like losing something when Bucky let go with a low chuckle, and there was something strange in the way his eyes met James’.

Down the hall, they heard the water turn on. James wasn’t even sure when Bucky had set down his ridiculous mug, but he’d picked it up again, settling into the corner of the couch with it.James listened to the distant sound of the shower spray. 

“I feel like we’re missing an opportunity.” Bucky’s voice was soft, the insinuation utterly unexpected, and James eyes went wide. Despite their similarities, he couldn’t quite tell if Bucky was joking. They’d danced around what James’ permanence meant for them, but Bucky looked perfectly at ease, as if James had always been there. 

James shrugged, Bucky’s casual posture leaving him a little bit more relaxed. “Nah. He always runs showers too cold.”

“And that tub really isn’t made for three…” Bucky murmured, expression hidden behind his mug.

“It’s not,” James agreed, twitching where he sat. He hated how hard it was to get a read on Bucky, because nothing in his other self’s tone betrayed any particular level of seriousness. Swallowing his nerves, James added, “but the bed is.”

Bucky spluttered rather satisfyingly into whatever it was he was drinking. “Well, I think we've established that."

Alright, maybe he'd read that wrong after all. Bucky recovered quickly though, a mischievous grin creasing his lips.

James breathed in slowly, skin prickling in anticipation. "It seems like the kind of thing that could use more thorough study." 

"It really could." Bucky nodded gravely, setting his mug aside again. "And it sounds much more engaging than putting up with you stealing my books."

Bucky slipped off the couch, and James was struck by the grace of it. For someone built so much like a battering ram, Bucky moved like a dancer. Bucky was a trained assassin, James reminded himself, but the connotation in his head didn’t entirely do his other self justice. Bucky seemed like a ghost sometimes, but there was nothing particularly deadly in the easy sway of his hips, or the way he cocked his head just so, clearly waiting to see if James would follow.

He was staring, James realized, and judging by the curious look he found when he reached Bucky’s eyes, he wasn’t the only one who’d realized it. James pushed himself to stand up, circling the couch. "Well, I'm clearly just in need of a distraction."

If there were a time either of them were going to back down James expected that this would be it. There'd been plenty of false starts - though none like this - and at least now they weren't distressing Steve with their indecision. The uncomfortable, almost jealous feeling that had so often knotted in his stomach was nowhere to be found though, replaced instead with a hopeful sort of anticipation. He couldn’t have said what, precisely, he was anticipating, but it fizzled warmly in his chest.

Bucky looked over from behind his hair, and James cursed inwardly that it was so hard to read his double's expression when he could only see half of it. What he did catch was the way Bucky's mouth curved in a wicked smirk. "Clearly."

Was it weird that the look prickled so acutely down his spine? It was probably weird, but weird was relative. Finding something appealing about Bucky seemed considerably less weird than the fact that there were two of them in the first place, for instance. 

“So, the way I see it, we have a couple of minutes, tops, to decide about this.” James was sure he remembered usually being much smoother about these sorts of conversation, but he was very definitely babbling now. 

Bucky laughed outright, slipping past the bathroom door where the shower was still running. It wasn’t mocking in the least. “I didn’t realize there was anything left to decide.”

James’ lips pursed as he turned that over in his head. It was a leap from tolerating each other to that. Only tolerate wasn’t the right word for them lately, James didn’t think. It was only when he caught the concerned furrow of Bucky’s brow that he realized he hadn’t properly responded. James scrambled for words. “You think Steve will go for it?”

Bucky’s posture changed minutely. James hadn’t caught the tension in Bucky’s shoulders until they dropped ever so slightly. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Turned out, they didn’t have long to wait. The water shut off, and they’d only been in the bedroom a moment before Steve emerged from the bathroom and followed after them, a towel slung around his waist. 

“Forgot a change of clothes,” Steve offered, as if they were particularly in need of an explanation. 

“Oh, I don’t know, Steve,” James purred, not a hint of awkwardness there, much to his relief. “I think you might be too dressed already.”

“Too…” Steve looked from James to Bucky and back again. They’d both found their way to the foot of the bed, an open space between them. “Oh.”

“Oh? Is that a good ‘oh’ or a keep our clothes on ‘oh’?” Bucky asked. James couldn’t see Bucky’s face behind his hair, but he knew the teasing smile he’d find there if he looked. 

Steve visibly swallowed, looking endearingly out of his element in a way James hadn’t seen him since the first time they’d kissed. James took pity, filling the silence that kept growing heavier as Steve hedged around answering. “It doesn’t have to be a thing.”

“It’s not that.” Steve was looking at them both again, and for someone who wore his heart so blatantly in his expression most of the time, it was remarkably difficult to tell what it was he was seeing. James’ stomach flopped uncomfortably, waiting for Steve to explain himself. “Just a surprise is all. I don’t want you to think it has to be like this.”

Oh. Oh _bless_ him. Here, they were the ones offering, just waiting for his okay, and the first thing Steve was worrying over was if they actually wanted to. He chuckled at the absurd lengths Steve’s manners went to. “Of course it doesn’t have to be, you goon.”

“No one here is being selfless,” Bucky promised, venturing as far as holding out his flesh and blood hand. “So you can come here, or you can not, but don’t get it in your head anyone is just doing you a favor.”

“In my defense, Your ability to get along is fairly new. I think being taken by surprise is probably understandable,” Steve murmured. He shifted from one foot to the other, and it didn’t look like he was trying to get out of this, so much as making sure things were certain.

“Like you said earlier. Wrong kind of dates.” James smiled absently, not that he was exactly listening. He hadn’t forgotten how gorgeous Steve was. It was just that lately, it hadn’t really been on display like this. His damp hair clung to his forehead a little, and James was distracted by how tempted he was to bury his fingers in it and pull just for the way it always made Steve’s breath hitch. Unapologetically, James let his gaze sweep from Steve’s broad, well muscled shoulders, down to his trim waist that disappeared into the edge of the towel barely clinging to his hips. James’ mouth went dry just looking at him. 

“You really gotta do something, pal,” Bucky said off to James’ left. There was a thready quality to his voice, and James would have put money on his other self thinking very nearly the same thing he was. “Either get your ass over here or put some clothes on. This is just cruel.” 

“What? I’m not… Oh.” Steve’s expression shifted from confusion to nerves to this rare, self-satisfied little smirk that made James bite his lip. It was a gift, really, one of those looks that practically made his hips twitch in anticipation. Bucky’s breath caught audibly as Steve dragged his thumb along the edge of the towel. Sheer willpower must have been holding the thing up because it barely clung on, even as his movements jostled the bit of it he’d tucked into the waist. Steve ventured closer, but just out of reach. 

“Oh, that’s mean,” James whined. It wouldn’t have been hard to close the distance, but it felt like some unspoken rule that they had to stay put until Steve came to them. 

“Is not. I just know how distracted you get, and I don’t want to be the only one naked,” Steve teased. It sounded confident, but James could pick out the nervousness he couched in bravado. There was something just a little bit stilted, as if Steve were distracted by the hammering of his own heart. Steve was probably anxious, but that was okay. They all were.

“Oh, that’s an easy fix.” James replied brightly, hooking his fingers in the hem of his shirt. He paused with it hiked up barely more than an inch, remembering the way Steve had looked at him and Bucky together on the couch before. Hoping Bucky wouldn’t deck him for the presumption, he let go of his own shirt in favor of tugging questioningly at his other self’s. 

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up, but the smack James half expected for his trouble never came. Bucky didn’t even pull away. There was a sharp look that faded into recognition, and as close as they were, Bucky’s hair did nothing to hide the way his icy blue eyes flicked to Steve, checking if he was watching. James lingered, unsure what he was waiting for exactly until he caught the moment Bucky leaned in. It was a small thing, but it spoke volumes. 

It wasn’t about Bucky. James told himself there was some invisible line, and he definitely hadn’t crossed it. The two of them just happened to be aligned around mutual intent. Now that he was here though, it seemed a shame not to appreciate the view. Aesthetically, of course. 

Acutely aware of the way Steve was watching them, James inched his way to the bottom of Bucky’s shirt, scrunching it in his grasp. He pulled upward, squirming at the way Bucky watched him, and pretended not to notice the nearly silent shift of metal as his counterpart lifted his arms. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear the stubborn rattle of shatterproof glass under Bucky’s fist, but awe wasn’t really the most ideal of emotions at the moment. 

His knuckles dragged along the heated flesh of Bucky’s torso as he pulled the shirt up. This close, he could feel the way Bucky quivered at the contact, and some part of him held on to that, wishing to draw it out. It was a pleasant response, not that it was his to draw out. In a moment, the shirt was gone entirely, leaving Bucky’s thick, muscular frame bared to the room. 

“Oh,” Steve’s voice was soft and choked near them, leaving James grinning deviously. That was better than he’d hoped for. He caught the way Steve’s gaze was glued on Bucky, and followed the trajectory of it, taking in the ripples of muscle under his skin, and the way nearly pristine flesh ended in an angry seam of reddened skin and white, knotted scar tissue. Unthinkingly, he reached out, delicately tracing the edge of Bucky’s metal shoulder, where it anchored to the rest of him. It was smooth and textureless, and though he suspected Bucky didn’t feel it much, his other self’s throat worked in response. 

The arm wasn’t the only flash of metal that caught James’ attention. A loop of silver was pressed through each of Bucky’s nipples, the pert nubs of them drawing James’ gaze even though he didn’t quite _mean_ to stare. It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen them in passing, but he’d never had reason to take much notice. Was it wrong, he wondered, if he sort of wanted to touch just to see the response it pulled from Bucky?

James never actually got the chance. All at once, Bucky turned the tables. He shook himself, mismatched hands tugging at James’ shirt. It was a touch less teasing and more eager, fabric pulled away and tossed to the floor. There was a challenge behind it, and if those hands had been Steve’s, they would have collided with James’ chest, urging him back onto the bed. They weren’t though, and a frenetic sort of tension settled between them, a summer night full of thunder before the rain pours in. 

There was a line not to be crossed, because they didn’t want to, or maybe because they did. Maybe he’d consider the reasons later. For now, it was enough to move his hands, driving him to hook his thumbs in the waistband of his own pajama pants. He jerked them down over his hips, and pretended not to notice Bucky had followed suit. They were so much the same, but different too, and there was vulnerability in laying those differences bare. 

“There,” he breathed out, covering his nerves with a cheeky grin at Steve. “Happy now?”

“Is there an answer that doesn’t make me sound like a lech?” Steve asked sheepishly. The hesitant way he thumbed at the waistline of his towel was rather endearing, as if, faced with two stark naked versions of his partner, he was afraid of seeming eager. 

Bucky laughed, holding out his flesh and blood hand to Steve. “Fair’s fair. Come here, you idiot.”

Bucky called and Steve came and James was just a bit transfixed by the whole display. They were in tune in a way that left James’ chest throbbing, only it wasn’t jealousy, not really. Steve’s hand fit easily in Bucky’s, and somewhere along the way, the towel lost it’s grip on Steve’s hip. James watched the way they moved together, the obvious affection, and the playful tumble that landed Steve on the mattress between him and Bucky, back pressed against the bedding. It was hard to think too much after that. 

For a moment, James just watched. Bucky and Steve were striking together, not so much in a lurid way, but provocative nonetheless. Bucky crawled up the length of Steve’s body, settling off to one side in a clear invitation. His lips slotted effortlessly against Steve’s, and James wondered if this was how he looked with Steve too, pretty and in tune and absurdly in love. Steve moved like Bucky had him on strings. Only maybe it was the other way around. 

Steve tilted his head the moment Bucky’s mouth strayed from his, offering his throat up in sacrifice to the teeth and tongue that mapped out the length of it. Bucky followed the path laid out for him without hesitation, suckling at the junction of Steve’s jaw and neck until his breathing hitched and he squirmed against the mattress. Steve arched up off the bed into the featherlight touch of Bucky’s fingertips skittering along his ribs. James followed the movement, the way Steve’s spine curved, the way his hips canted ever so slightly. Only, Bucky was utterly Steve’s creature in this too,affection more than lust driving the way he smoothed his palm over Steve’s belly, his grip settling like and anchor at the knob of Steve’s hip.

James remembered eventually that he wasn’t meant to be an audience, not really. He thought it would be strange or awkward to insinuate himself into this, only Bucky moved effortlessly, sliding out of the way as if they were two parts of a whole. He didn’t get much of an opportunity to consider that before Steve reached up, fingers tangling in James’ hair to tug him down for a kiss. 

Distantly, he was aware of Bucky, so close they were almost touching. Mostly though, his focus was narrowed to the way Steve’s mouth fit against his own, eager and just shy of demanding. James melted into it, gasping at the pull against his scalp. He couldn’t begin to complain at the way Steve took advantage. Steve nudged his lips further apart, tongue licking into his mouth, and if James had been uneasy about any of this, he forgot entirely. 

There was something overwhelming about all this, that made even the most innocent gestures feel anything but. Steve’s tongue tangled with James’, tasting faintly of toothpaste, and James couldn’t bring himself to do anything but melt into it. Bucky’s face was still nuzzled against Steve’s neck, but clearly he’d done _something_ , because Steve whimpered, the sound vibrating rather obscenely against James’ mouth. 

Steve’s fingers curled and uncurled in James’ hair at the back of his skull, the movement so instinctive, James bet he didn’t know he was doing it. Conscious action or not, James knew exactly what it meant. Despite the plaintive whimper he got from Steve, curiosity got the best of him. Nipping playfully at Steve’s mouth, James pulled back enough to see what it was he’d missed. 

_Oh_. James grinned wickedly when he caught on to the way Bucky’s mouth had found its way to the crook of Steve’s neck and shoulder. Every press of teeth made Steve shiver rather deliciously, teeth working over the bottom lip James had abandoned. Two could play that game and without hesitation, James tilted his head to follow suit. 

“Oh, that’s not… not _fair_ ,” Steve whined, and for a second, James hated that he couldn’t watch all this. They hadn’t even done anything, but Steve had let go of James in favor of grabbing at the blankets, fingers twisting helplessly in them. 

“Not fair? That’s _completely_ unacceptable.” James teased, his breath coming out in soft puffs against the damp place he’d left on Steve’s skin. 

“We could stop,” Bucky chimed in, delightfully quick to play along. 

“ _No_.” The word came in a drawn out whimper, and James glanced up just in time to see Bucky’s shoulders shaking with barely restrained amusement. They made quite a pair, James decided, and despite whatever complaining Steve was doing, his body seemed to agree. They’d barely touched him, but Steve already looked to be almost painfully hard, cock dribbling slightly against his stomach. 

“Must not be _that_ unfair, then,” James murmured, mouthing lazily at Steve’s neck. 

“This, on the other hand…” Bucky purred. James never quite got over his fascination with how gracefully Bucky moved. His mouth peppered kisses along the underside of Steve’s jaw, but somehow James didn’t think that was what Bucky was referring to. Bucky had arched just a little bit closer, bringing his body flush against Steve’s. James couldn’t take his eyes off Bucky’s fingers as they dragged over Steve’s chest and stomach, dipping suggestively into the divot of Steve’s hip. Steve groaned and arched helplessly into it, and James’ toes curled just watching. 

Of course, he didn’t mean to just watch. He moved in complement to Bucky, knuckles dragging along the inside of Steve’s knee. It was barely a suggestion, but Steve responded as if he couldn’t do anything else, thighs parting to give James better access. 

It seemed silly now, that they’d taken the long way around to get here. James liked the way Steve was already undone, faintly flushed across his cheeks and down his chest. He liked the way Steve looked, pressed against Bucky. They were a work of art, the two of them, and whatever jealously lingered, it was muted by how well the three of them fit. 

He even liked Bucky like this, James decided, careless and vulnerable and smiling wickedly. There was nothing shuttered and inscrutable, and he seemed every bit as pleased with this as James was. Bucky caught James’ eye, sharp and thoughtful, challenging James to meet him halfway. 

It was a challenge James was happy to rise to. He scratched his nails along the inside of Steve’s thigh. Steve quivered under James’ touch, and James could see Bucky watching, open mouthed and breathless. It was every bit as much of a tease as the attention Bucky paid Steve, thumb skating along the seam where Steve’s thigh met his body in favor of anywhere more useful. 

“You’re cruel,” Steve complained, hips rocking upward, but Bucky pulled his hand away, dragging his fingers along the sticky spot on Steve’s belly on the way. 

“Which ‘you’?” Bucky asked, the words faintly muffled as he nibbled at Steve’s collarbone. 

Steve sighed, tilting his head to the side, even as he responded. “ _Both_ of you.”

James laughed, nails scritching back down the inside of Steve’s leg, just for the way it made him squirm. “I don’t think that’s new information.”

“Besides, what part of being fawned over is cruel?” There was a theatrical sort of innocence to Bucky’s tone, and James had to press his face against Steve’s shoulder to stifle the laughter. 

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” Steve retorted, shaky and a little bit high pitched as Bucky’s hand returned, just a little bit shy of where Steve probably wanted it. 

“I don’t hear you offering any alternative suggestions,” James murmured, pressing a line of kisses along Steve’s collarbone. “If you want something, all you have to do is say, so.”

Steve laid still and licked his lips, and James wondered briefly if he’d crossed some unspoken line. All at once, Steve’s mouth curved up at the edges, and the hands he’d had tangled in the bedsheets were dragging down James’ flanks instead. “I could, or I could just do something about it.”

‘Something’ turned out to be Steve’s palms dragging over James’ bare skin, pulling him close. It was electricity along James’ nerves as Steve’s fingers cupped the curve of his rear, briefly dipping further down to the backs of his thighs. Bucky was watching them, and if James had expected hurt or jealousy, he found none. Bucky’s pupils were blown, his eyes a little glassy, and if there’d been any room in James’ head to think, he might have felt bad about the way that look shot right through him. 

If he stayed here, caught up in Steve’s grip, James was going to come undone all on his own. He let himself be pulled into a kiss, but he didn’t linger. Instead, he used the kiss as a distraction, wriggling out of Steve’s embrace.

“Oh no you don’t,” he murmured, shimmying downward on the bed. James dipped his head, the flat of his tongue dragging along the nub of one of Steve’s nipples. 

All thought of retaliation seemed to have fled Steve’s mind, because he gave in with a low moan, fingers scrabbling aimlessly at James’ shoulder. There was nothing quite like the way Steve surrendered, and James pressed his luck, pulling Steve’s nipple gently between his teeth. 

“Oh _Christ_ ,” Steve whined, nails digging into James’ skin. Almost instinctively, James glanced in Bucky’s direction, half expecting him to follow suit. Bucky had other ideas though. The bed dipped at Bucky pulled away from them entirely. James almost asked what was wrong, but Bucky leaned over the side of the bed, fishing through the side table drawer. 

Steve was looking over too, and James caught a look that passed between him and Bucky, but there was no telling exactly what it meant. James attempts to suss out what it meant were abruptly thwarted by Steve playfully flipping them over, weight pinning him to the bed. 

“Hey!” James squeaked out. “We were going to… to…”

“Yeah, I know.” Steve grinned down at him, and James didn’t believe that for a second. Steve couldn’t know how that sentence was going to end, because _James_ didn’t know, not really. His breath caught as Steve settled over him, rocking indulgently forward. Steve’s lips brushed delicately against his ear, teeth carefully dragging against the shell of it, and James couldn’t help the way he groaned, tilting his head to the side in offering as Steve whispered, “Let me do this?”

“Y...eah,” James agreed, eyes sliding shut as Steve’s mouth left a trail of kisses down the side of his neck. Belatedly, James remembered they weren’t alone, and he cracked an eye open, hoping Bucky wasn’t left out. James couldn’t see exactly what Bucky was doing, but his metal hand was skimming down Steve’s back. Steve shivered, teeth pressing down against the side of James’ neck with newfound urgency, so whatever it was, James approved. 

James lost himself for a little while, basking in Steve’s attention. He’d missed the way Steve knew exactly which strings to pluck to leave him breathless. He’d missed the balance Steve kept between eagerness and affection. There were lips against his again, and James was content to drown in the sensation, lips parting in an effort to draw Steve closer.

It was a far cry from the brief kisses they’d shared before now. Steve’s plush lips urged his further apart, tongue licking into his mouth until he whimpered around it. He’d forgotten how _good_ this was, but he certainly wasn’t forgetting now. 

In the urgency of the moment, James wasn’t sure when Steve’s mouth on his lips became Steve’s mouth down the column of his throat. There were damp, teasing presses that made James’ spine arch, and Steve, brat that he was, just followed that movement, like he didn’t have the slightest inkling what he was doing. They’d had the upper hand, James had thought, only Bucky hadn’t lifted a finger to help him regain it. He watched with some quiet intensity that made James’ toes curl in want of something he didn’t quite have the words for. 

The trail from James’ collarbones down to his waist was a well traveled one, familiar even in this context. They knew all the right moves, from the way James quivered at Steve’s breath across his torso, to the way Steve shuffled, settling between James’s thighs. Steve’s mouth on the inside of James’ knee was new, and for a second, he thought it might be retribution for all the teasing he’d done before. It was a tender thing though, all promising, open mouthed kisses along sensitive skin. James’ fingers buried themselves in Steve’s hair, and despite the way he wanted to drift off in this, he opened his eyes. 

It was one of the better decisions James had made, he decided. Steve was lovely, flushed and naked, nearly prostrate at the foot of the bed. Bucky’s hair fell in a veil that obscured most of his face, but he was settled behind Steve, nuzzling against his spine. Flesh and metal shoulders rounded out his frame, and James thought privately that maybe it was good he couldn’t quite reach to touch them. He licked his lips, thinking about what it might be like. 

Hazy and coming undone, James watched Bucky’s hands brush along Steve’s hips. One of them snuck underneath, along Steve’s stomach. James couldn’t see, but it was accompanied by a jerk of Steve’s body, a low whimper shivering against James’ skin. It happened again, and a third time, and James squirmed, hips twitching as he fought the urge to beg. 

In the end, he didn’t have to. Steve shifted his weight to one arm, the fingers of his free hand curling around the base of James’ cock. Steve grinned at him, lazy and wanting. “Does this suffice for telling you what I want?”

“You, you br-” James never got to finish. Steve pulled him in in one smooth movement, and James’ insult died on a pleasured sort of wail. Steve’s mouth was all heat and pressure around him, and James pressed into it, breath coming in stuttered gasps.

The steady bobbing of Steve’s head over his length was a gift all on its own. Steve’s tongue worked over his cock, nudging at the slit and working over the head of it. James trembled and rolled his hips, and Steve moved in perfect rhythm, like he’d expected this all along. 

It should have been unsettling, James thought distantly, meeting Bucky’s eye when he looked up. He was vulnerable and unwound though, and Bucky looked as unraveled as he felt, all flushed and breathing roughly. Bucky was gorgeous like this, and James would have been sorry for his other self pulling away, except that it was to lavish attention on Steve, and wasn’t that the point?

James watched rather breathlessly as Bucky moved, pressing kisses down down down the column of Steve’s spine. He couldn’t see much after that, except for Bucky’s hands gripping Steve’s glutes, pushing them apart. All but the top of Bucky’s head disappeared from view, and maybe James couldn’t see what was happening, but he could certainly feel it. 

To Steve’s credit, he tried to hold out. There were thready, stifled moans around James’ cock. Steve writhed rather gorgeously, clawing at the bedding, at James’ thigh, whatever he could reach. Steve’s whimpers all but drowned out the wet sounds of Bucky’s tongue on him, and James decided right then that they were going to have to do this the other way around some time, because no one should be deprived of seeing Steve’s face like this. 

Steve lost all semblance of rhythm, his mouth going slightly slack. James couldn’t even bring himself to be cross, not when Steve pulled off to press his face roughly against James’ thigh, open mouthed and gasping. “Sorry I… oh _fuck_.” 

That look was everything James wanted really, only much closer. He tugged urgently at Steve, and if Steve was too addled by pleasure to understand what James was trying to do, Bucky did. Between the two of them, they steered Steve back up the length of James’ body. Steve sagged helplessly in James’ embrace, mouth pressed against James’ neck in a way that did nothing to stifle the soft sighs and moans Bucky was pulling from him.

“Fuck, you’re pretty,” James breathed out, painfully hard and struggling not to rut up against Steve’s hip. He affectionately cradled the back of Steve’s neck in one hand, absently feeling with the other for the bottle of lube Bucky had left at the side of the bed. There was no telling if Steve was coherent enough to do much with it, but James pressed the bottle into his hand anyway. 

“Oh,” Steve murmured, the word slurred slightly with pleasure. James could feel the way Steve’s lips curled into a grin against his shoulder. 

“You didn’t think we were going to do _all_ the work did you?” James murmured, enjoying the breathless huff of laughter he got in response. 

“I was trying. I got distracted,” Steve protested, not that his tone had any bite to it. There was a bit of fumbling, and James grimaced as he felt a line of lube dribble along the crease of his thigh. Steve’s fingers dragged through it though, and he was so wound up already, that the touch felt electric.

“I noticed.” James kept expecting Bucky to say something, but judging from the way Steve kept whimpering against James’ shoulder, he was rather preoccupied. It was a shame not to be able to see him like this, but the thought was swept away as Steve’s thumb dragged down the length of his perineum, hard enough to make James’ body jerk. He sucked in a sharp breath as a slick finger worked it’s way inside him. The effort was a little disjointed, but Steve crooked his finger just so, and James cried out in unexpected pleasure. 

There was a second finger alongside the first by the time James managed to wrench his eyes back open. He was terribly grateful to be sprawled out on his back, because the whole world felt a little wobbly. His existence narrowed to the three of them, the solid weight of Steve’s body over his. Bucky had changed tactics somewhere along the way, because his hands were most definitely preoccupied with Steve, but his eyes were hazy and fixed on James. There was too much space between them suddenly, and James scrabbled at Steve, because it was as far as he could reach. 

James was caught up between the look on Steve’s face as Bucky’s fingers worked him open, and the pleasure that blossomed its way through him as Steve paid that particular favor forward. He could feel Steve’s cock, burning hot and leaking against his hip, and he wanted, wanted, wanted. He sobbed as Steve pressed a third finger in, twisting until James saw stars. 

“Enough. It’s enough,” he pleaded, hardly recognizing his own voice. 

“Are you sure?” Steve bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut in response to something Bucky was doing, and James couldn’t tell if the question was concerned or teasing. 

Bucky leaned forward a bit over Steve’s back, leaving James rather acutely aware of his presence. Something in his belly twisted in anticipation as Bucky purred, “He’s sure.”

“How would you…” Steve’s voice choked off on a moan as Bucky reached between them, palming Steve’s length. “...know?”

“We have a thing or two in common,” Bucky replied blithely, leaving James’ throat working as he turned the words over in his frazzled mind. Bucky’s knuckles dragged along James’ thigh, and his heart nearly stopped. Maybe it was inadvertent and meant nothing, or maybe Bucky just liked how much Steve liked this. Only maybe Bucky knew the strange, twisted way James’ gaze kept finding its way back to him. 

He expected Bucky to pull away, for that to be the end of it, but Bucky did no such thing. Steve rolled his hips forward, but it was Bucky’s hand fisted around the base of Steve’s cock, guiding him home. It was all heat and pressure, and James was already sure he was coming apart at the seams when Steve went still, buried to the hilt. 

“Okay?” Steve whispered, nuzzling against James’ jaw. It was probably so that he could feel the way James nodded when words failed him. James liked to think it was so that he could feel the way Steve’s whole body trembled, all the way to the lips he’d pressed to James’ skin as Bucky settled behind him. Bucky rolled his hips forward, pressing Steve even harder against James, and for a moment he wasn’t sure they were going to get past this. 

“Breathe.” It was scarcely more than a whisper, but James looked up, bleary and teetering already. Bucky smiled over Steve’s shoulder, a sort of sweet, lopsided thing, that was terribly incongruous with what they were up to. James nodded anyway, sucking in a breath and then another. 

It didn’t matter how they managed. Only that they did. James gasped and shuddered, reaching a hand between his body and Steve’s to match the rhythm of Steve’s movements. He climbed higher, higher, and then Steve _shifted_ , aiming for exactly the right spot. Frayed as James’ self control was, it was enough to tip him over the edge. James keened as every muscle tightened and let go, the world graying out around the edges as he came. 

Release left him boneless, pulsing around Steve’s length as he caught his breath. Heart still in his throat, James memorized the way Steve’s face screwed up in pleasure, the way he clawed helplessly at the sheets. It was worth every unwieldy step he and Bucky had taken around each other if it meant seeing Steve like this, shattering in the space between them. Steve sobbed wordlessly and went still, fingers clutching the bedding beside James’ head until James offered up his hand instead. Their palms met, fingers sliding between each other. 

Bucky wasn’t far behind. Muzzy and a bit drunk on all of this, James found himself watching Bucky. His focused expression was marred by the long bits of hair that stuck to his face, but that wasn’t what James was looking at, not really. Steve’s body rocked against his as Bucky moved, and James’ gaze stuck on the way Bucky’s fingers curled around Steve’s hips, so hard they had to be leaving bruises. 

It was the shift of Bucky’s fingers that gave him away before anything else. James watch them clench a little more tightly as Bucky’s movements went more erratic, and he stilled with a thoroughly overwhelmed gasp of something. It was a curse, or maybe Steve’s name, but James didn’t have it in him to think too much on that. 

They landed in more of a heap than anything. Steve eased out of him with a soft hiss, but he sprawled half on top of James. His hands strayed, blatantly affectionate as they skimmed James’ flank and hip. Bucky settled in right beside them, the cool metal slats of his arm a welcome relief where they were slung across James’ feverish skin. 

Sticky and uncomfortable as James was, he couldn’t bear to move. If he moved, they might lose this feeling, this indiscriminate closeness they’d cobbled together. In the end, it was Steve who put an end to it, playfully pushing Bucky off him enough to get up. Bucky whined wordlessly, but let him go, rolling right back up next to James while they waited for Steve to return. 

“Hey, I…” James started, assuming he was meant to say something, but Bucky was already shaking his head, silencing him with a metal finger pressed to James’ lips. It was oddly reassuring, the permission James had needed to just relax and stop thinking. If there was something to this, it would still be there tomorrow.

James closed his eyes, sated and sleepy, listening to the water running in the bathroom sink. It wasn’t long before Steve returned to them. James made a soft sound of protest when Bucky moved away, but Steve took up the empty space, and that was perfect too. They fell asleep in a tangle of warm skin and wayward limbs.


	7. Chapter 7

5:58 a.m. Steve decided he could miss a morning run, just this once. James and Bucky were both tucked so peacefully against him, Steve couldn’t bring himself to jar them awake with the alarm clock. Carefully as he could, Steve reached over James to turn off the alarm before it could start buzzing. 

Steve wasn’t sure how he’d expected things to land, not really. Armistice maybe, a careful truce full of rules and negotiation. What he hadn’t expected was the way they fell together, less like uneasy allies and more like puzzle pieces. Peace had been the best Steve had hoped for, but they were well on their way to honestly being happy. 

For a little while, Steve stayed put, enjoying the moment for what it was. He rolled onto his back, and even in sleep, the two of them followed. James pressed into Steve’s left side, head resting against his shoulder. He was all warm, bare skin and there was a give to his flesh and muscle that Bucky had never gotten back. He slept like there was no one else in the bed, a leg hooked around Steve’s knee, and his left arm slung over Steve and Bucky both. 

Steve wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Bucky sleep so soundly. His metal arm was carefully tucked out of the way, and his nose was pressed to Steve’s neck. He was quiet, save for the steady in and out of his breathing. 

Usually by now, something had gone wrong. Someone had stolen all the blankets, or kicked someone awake, or started awake from some half remembered nightmare. Steve took pleasure where he could find it, memorizing the sensation of two heartbeats against his skin, the comforter still a soft buffer between them and the rest of the world. 

The moments ticked by unremarked on, just this once. Steve dozed for a while, and if not for the way his stomach growled, he might have just stayed forever. Neither Bucky nor James stirred, but it reminded him of something. It was Saturday, and at least for he and James, that had meant something until everything had gone sideways. 

Smiling to himself, Steve started the slow, careful process of extricating himself from James’ and Bucky’s embrace. It would spoil the surprise if he woke them. His escape felt like hours, between Bucky’s tendency to stir at any disturbance, and James’ insistence on clinging like a comatose leech. Somehow, he managed, neither version of his partner any the wiser. 

Without him between them, Bucky and James practically melted together. Almost at once, they filled the gap where Steve’s body had been. They were a tangle of limbs he could just make out beneath the blankets, and Steve grinned as they settled, James head nestled against Bucky’s chest. It was fitting that they’d find their way here. 

Perhaps they didn’t notice the things they drew out in each other. Steve had the benefit of watching them from the outside. They thawed by inches, and then all at once. The boundaries they erected between themselves were paper thin, and whatever line they were afraid of crossing did nothing to dull the shudder down Bucky’s spine as James’ fingers grazed his ribs the night before, or the laser focus of James’ gaze as he traced Bucky’s frame with his eyes. 

It was unorthodox, but only as much as everything else about them was too. If they found happiness in some fashion, who was anyone to judge? Steve wondered if he ought to be jealous of how easily they fit, completely unaware of his absence. Mostly, it just dredged up something tender as he watched them sleep. 

There was a reason he’d dragged himself out of bed though, and fawning over how peaceful James and Bucky looked wasn’t working towards that goal. Reluctantly, Steve turned away to dress, and slipped quietly out of the apartment. With any luck, he’d be back before they knew he was gone. 

He wasn’t sure there was any way for them to hold on to this particular tradition. Their situation wasn’t one Steve particularly wanted to explain, should they end up here often enough for this timeline’s version of Kim to know them. She was relentlessly curious. She would ask, and Steve didn’t have remotely satisfying answer he could afford to give the general public. 

Just because he couldn’t bring them to Macdonough, didn’t mean he couldn’t bring it to them. Looking in from where he’d parked out front, Steve was rather glad he’d decided not to wake them. Kim was behind the counter, and even though James was settling nicely here, that wasn’t a reminder anyone needed. 

“Steve!” Kim grinned as he walked in, waving him over. The greeting nearly startled Steve out of his skin. 

“Oh hey!” Steve pasted on his best PR smile, not quite sure what to expect. She’d seemed so confused by James talking to her. Steve chalked it up to her maybe having figured out who he was after they’d left last time. 

“All by your lonesome today?” Kim lifted an eyebrow as she moved over to the register. 

“Yeah. We had a late night. I figured not everyone should have to get up,” Steve found himself rattling off. There was familiarity in this. The part of him that belonged in this timeline didn’t know Kim, but his other self did, and conversation slipped together easily. 

Kim gave Steve a friendly smile, and he relaxed. It was a customer service smile, as far as he could tell. She’d probably just seen him on the news or something. “Alright, Mister. What’s it going to be?”

Steve rattled off their order for coffees and breakfast sandwiches, and if Kim was surprised by the third coffee, she didn’t say a word. Their conversation was cut short as she slipped away to the far end of the counter to get to work on his order. 

Steve took a seat at the table he usually sat at with Bucky. Maybe this could get to be their thing again. He couldn’t do everything with both of them constantly. However perfectly the night before had worked out, there was every chance that trying to treat this as a single relationship would just drive them all mad. Resolving to talk with James and Bucky about it later, Steve patiently waited, taking in the quiet of early morning. 

The world still looked gray outside the window in the cool, dreary tones that came with dawn creeping in, the sun still sluggishly behind it. Old brick buildings lined the street, along with a handful of cars parked along the curb. The houses were easily as old as he was, though Steve couldn’t remember having come to this part of town before.

The service was quick as ever, and Steve turned away from the window at the muted rhythm of rubber soles hitting the tile. Sure enough, he looked up to see Kim holding out a back and a tray of coffee with an easy smile. “You’re all set. Tell Bucky he’s gotta get his butt out of bed and come in if he wants any next time.”

“Of course I’ll tell him.” Steve took the bag with a smile and a wave, though something itched at him. He couldn’t quite place what it was. 

Steve was back on the highway before it hit him. She’d called Bucky by name, but Kim didn’t know Bucky. There were plenty of explanations, of course. They weren’t exactly low profile. In all probability, he was inventing trouble where there was none, but worry was never a reasonable creature. 

xxxxxxxxxx

There were few things Bucky enjoyed as immensely as mornings like this. Early morning sunshine filtered around the edges of the blinds, and if he opened his eyes, he’d find the room bathed in soft light and softer shadows. He didn’t bother, content to stave off waking up for as long as humanly possible. 

He’d never cared terribly much about the details of this room. They didn’t spend enough time just existing in the bedroom for him to care that the dresser matched the bed frame, or that the comforter was a soothing grayish sort of blue that Bucky had picked out under extreme duress, because Steve had insisted something in here be his doing. What he did care about was the sheets. They were a sateen sort of cotton that cradled his still bare skin, a perfect compliment to Steve’s heated body pressed against his chest. 

Lips tilting in a smile still half caught in slumber, Bucky nestled closer. They didn’t normally sleep like this, but it settled tenderly in his chest to feel like he could protect something instead of hurting it. There was a puff of air against his chest as Steve breathed out, and instinctively, Bucky shifted, fingers scritching lazily at his lover’s scalp. 

The hair was all wrong though, and Bucky cracked an eye open and glanced down. Sure enough, the tresses under his fingers were as dark as his own, if much shorter. James had nuzzled against him, forehead pressed to the center of Bucky’s chest, an arm slung haphazardly along Bucky’s hip. It wasn’t at all what Bucky expected, but that was decidedly alright. 

Distantly, Bucky thought this should have been weird. It was unnatural, wasn’t it? The lines were foggy, because in some ways James just seemed like an extension of himself, but James was also an entirely different person the moment Bucky stopped to think about it. The train of thought was a confusing one, but then James shifted against him, legs tangling with Bucky’s like they belonged there. And he let it go.

It was much too early for questions about philosophy and social mores. Blankets and bare skin made for a much more enticing proposition, so Bucky gave into it. Making sure his metal arm was tucked beneath the pillows, he melted against James, smoothing a palm over his sleep ruffled hair. Bucky’s fingertips traced the divot at the base of James’ skull where the back of his neck began, drawing a sleepy murmur that made Bucky smile. 

This wasn’t precisely new. The days between when they’d all first crawled into bed together and now all bled together until Bucky lost track. They shared space and they shared a life and they shared a lover, but _this_ was new. Even when Steve wasn’t there, there was a spectre of him between them. There was nothing now, just the ridge of James’ spine under his fingers, and the press of his slightly soft belly against Bucky’s as short nails scraped the small of his back.

James cracked an eye, and Bucky half expected him to pull away, even though that ran counter to everything the night before. James sucked in a breath, and Bucky waited for a complaint or accusation, but none came. He couldn’t have been particularly bothered, because when James spoke, his voice was heavy and slightly slurred with sleep he hadn’t really been jarred from. “Where’s Steve?”

“Dunno,” Bucky sighed out, palm and fingers fanning across the small of James’ back. “He was gone when I woke up.”

“Mmm.” The sound started as an acknowledgement, and bled out into a low, pleased murmur of encouragement as Bucky’s nails dragged up and down his back. His eyes fluttered, lashes fanning against pale skin. “His loss.”

Some part of him wanted to define this. It was the part that had been conditioned to understand things in terms of missions and targets, allies and enemies. It was a part that found the shades of gray of his own life to be maddening. Bucky staunchly ignored the urge. They were two halves of something whole, anchored around Steve. That was all the definition Bucky really needed. 

The world slipped away beyond velvety sheets and pliant skin. Bucky closed his eyes at the quiet comfort of fingertips mapping out his flank and the fleshy knob of his hip. James’ thumb dipped into the hollow there, but it seemed more curiosity than intent. 

James shifted, but it didn’t entirely register until cool air swept across Bucky’s chest in the place his other self’s face had been. He was still close, their bodies flush, and when Bucky opened his eyes, he found himself looking right into James’. They were nose to nose. It felt like breaking a rule to speak up, so he only whispered, “What are you doing?”

“Thinking.” James stayed put, the tip of his nose nudging against Bucky’s.

For such an innocent thing, it was strangely intimate. Bucky sort of wanted to cocoon himself in this particular emotion, the one where he just got to be. “About?”

“We’re different a lot of the time,” James murmured, fingers slipping to Bucky’s face, tracing his jaw and cheek as if to memorize it. “But like this, just… close like this. I might as well be looking in a mirror.”

“I wouldn’t go _that_ far.” Something caught in Bucky’s chest, and he swallowed thickly. His eyes fluttered shut, and like this, he could feel James’ breath in soft puffs across his lips. 

“Hey. Are you two awake. You-” Steve abruptly cut off, eyes widening ever so slightly in surprise. His expression softened though, terribly fond. Bucky had worried, distantly, about what it might mean to Steve, but that look put his deepest seated worries to rest. “...look comfortable. I’m kind of sorry I didn’t stick around.”

Bucky caught a lazy grin on James’ face in profile as he turned his head to look at Steve. “It’s not our fault you can’t just stay put now and then.”

“Hey. I brought you breakfast,” Steve protested. Bucky thought he caught a brief slip of something haunted in his expression, but it disappeared so quickly, he couldn’t be certain.

“Yeah, but…” James didn’t finish, just gestured vaguely to Bucky, and sagged obstinately against him. It was a lovely sensation Bucky would happily fall back asleep to.

“I brought coffee,” Steve coaxed, and Bucky didn’t have the heart to argue. There’d be time to work out what this meant later. 

“Sorry pal,” Bucky playfully pushed at James, moving to sit up. “Coffee always wins.”

“Was that an insult? That sounded like an insult.” James asked, poking at Bucky’s side once he’d gotten himself upright. It was impossible to take the little scowl that formed on his lips seriously, not when his hair was impossibly disheveled, and the blanket pooled at his waist was the only thing hiding his lack of clothing. 

“It wasn’t an insult,” Bucky promised, debating briefly before slipping out of bed. He pretended not to notice the way James’ gaze lingered, on him. Later. That was a conversation for later. “Are you coming?”

James crawled out from under the covers, flashing Bucky a toothy grin. “Like you said, coffee always wins.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Breakfast or not, it was just a little bit unfortunate, giving up… whatever it was that they’d cobbled together. James had been more than a little bit tempted to drag Steve back to bed with them and let that be the end of it. Instead, there were clothes, and space between the three of them. Given how nicely the morning had started, he was sure no one could blame him for being just a little bit disappointed. 

Steve must have caught James’ expression. He smiled indulgently, pressing a sandwich into James’ hand. “It can’t be _that_ bad. I brought you breakfast.”

“I was comfortable,” James pointed out, swallowing at the way Bucky’s hands on his shoulders made his stomach flop. He’d told himself the night before had just been him being caught up in the moment, but there it was still. 

Bucky steered him towards the couch, offering a lidded paper cup of coffee. “Yeah, I noticed.”

James huffed in response, but Bucky pushed his shoulder to get him to sit down. All James’ attention went to holding a hand over the mouthpiece of his lid to keep the coffee from spilling, and he forgot entirely what he’d meant to say. He didn’t realize he was in the middle of the couch at first, but Bucky plopped down on his left side, and Steve squeezed in on his right. It was a tight fit, but there was comfort in how naturally the three of them fell together. James settled against the cushions, sipping his coffee, and if some small part of him thought there was still an understanding to come to, for now, he was alright. 

“Jesus, Steve. How early did you wake us up? It’s barely daylight,” Bucky mumbled between bites. He’d leaned against James while talking to Steve, but then he stayed. It was sort of nice, if James was being honest, so he stayed silent, hoping maybe Bucky would stay. 

“You were already awake, Buck,” Steve replied mildly. His mouth was hidden behind his coffee cup, but James could _hear_ the smile dripping off his lips. “Besides, it’s nearly 10:30.”

James glanced out the window, and sure enough the sky had a sort of pallid cast about it, the sickly yellow gray of sunrise on a cloudy day. Time ticked by, but the light remained strange and unsettling through the wide windows of their apartment. James looked out the window now and again as they ate, idly wondering if a storm was coming in. 

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t think that was nearly enough coffee,” Bucky murmured, pulling himself up off the couch with a sigh. James told himself he was just sorry Bucky was leaving because his left side was a little cold now. Either way, he couldn’t quite help the way his head turned, watching Bucky saunter off to the kitchen.

 

He looked forward again just in time to see Steve… _smiling_ at him. It was bad enough that his head was so muddled that he’d even think like this privately, but now he’d been caught. James glared at Steve. “What?”

 

“You know exactly what,” Steve replied, so evenly it made James’ head spin a little. He’d expected confusion at best and disgust at worst, because really, what was _wrong_ with him? Bucky was different, but they were still the same too, and what kind of ego must he have to be hung up on some other version of himself?

 

James’ mouth screwed up as he tried to come up with something to say. “You could at least have the decency to look surprised.”

 

“Why? I love him. Why on earth would it surprise me if you do, too?” There wasn’t the slightest suggestion of judgment from Steve. James had to admit, his reasoning made sense, sort of. It was still absurd, but everything about this was absurd.

 

“This isn’t you channeling Tony is it?” James asked, narrowing his eyes at Steve. From the other room, he could hear the coffee grinder, whirring away.

 

There was some measure of satisfaction in the way Steve’s eyes widened, and he nearly choked on his tongue. “ _No_. This is me wanting us to be happy, whatever that looks like.”

 

It was still decidedly weird, but maybe that was okay. James turned the idea over in his head. The coffee grinder had stopped, and the silence was oppressive in a way that made him feel like he needed to articulate things he didn’t have words for yet. As much to fill up the quiet as anything, he gave Steve an uneasy smile and turned on the television.

 

“ _It’s a beautiful day here in New York City_ ,” the weather forecaster chirped, “ _blue skies as far as the eye can see._ ”

 

Steve took the hint and let the matter drop. He stayed put, reaching for his sketchbook, and didn’t say another word about the way James had looked at Bucky, much to James’ relief. This was up to him and Bucky when it came down to it, and something fluttered nervously in his chest at the idea of bringing it up.

 

“ _Temperatures will remain in the mid seventies the rest of the week…_ ”

 

The weather woman prattled on, though James was only half listening as her hand swept over a map that promised nothing but sunshine and balmy weather for the next week. It was background noise as James considered the possibilities. He laid his head back, listening to the trickle of the coffee maker, and the comforting drone of the weather. There was a low rumble, the kind that felt like it might go on forever.

 

 _Funny_ James thought. _That sounded like thunder_. It quieted though, and in the quiet between commercials, all that remained was the comforting scratch of Steve’s pencil against paper, and the clink of porcelain against the countertop.

 

This was it. This was the rest of his life. The Avengers and Steve and _Bucky_. Coffee and watching Steve draw, and the rain coming down against the big picture window, blurring their view of the city.

 

 _Odd_. James stared out the window, where the rain slanted down against the glass in sheets. He’d sworn the weather had promised sunshine, but when he looked at the television, they’d moved on to other things.

 

James stared at the window, but it was just rain. The sickly yellow light had ebbed into gray and dreary and _normal_. Steve didn’t seem to find anything strange about it. He was still scribbling away, the page turned just out of James’ view.

 

Before James could comment on it, Bucky was between him and the window, pressing the octopus mug into his hand. There wasn’t any room anymore in his head for the rain or the sky because his fingers were wrapped around the handle of the mug Bucky always used. James had no idea what that meant, but it meant _something_ judging by the faint upward tilt of Bucky’s mouth. James’ mouth went dry, and he let out a breath all at once. “Thanks.”

 

“Mmhm.” Bucky set Steve’s cup on the side table and sank back down on the couch. He tucked in against James like they’d always been like this, head resting in the crook of James’ shoulder. They were close, so close it left James’ heart threatening to hammer right out of his chest. James chewed the inside of his bottom lip, hesitating before stretching out his arm to tentatively wrap around Bucky.

 

Only, the gesture never quite landed. Bucky pulled away to lean in front of him, swiping the remote. “We’re watching the news? Really? At least put on a movie.”

 

They put on a movie, James was pretty sure. They had to have, because Bucky wasn’t complaining about the news anymore, but James couldn’t have said what it was. The world narrowed to Steve on his right and Bucky on his left and the absolute mystery of how he could ever have wanted something else. He basked in the comfort that came with being right where he needed to be, and watched lightning crackle across the sky.

 

Steve excused himself, something about dishes that needed doing, and for all James’ comfort, he could have strangled the man. He knew exactly what Steve was doing, and the prospect of being alone with Bucky shivered in James’ belly.

 

If Bucky had any idea, he hid it well. Their coffee long since gone, he curled up between James and the arm of the couch. All James could think about was that morning, tangled up skin to skin, so _close_ to something he wasn’t equipped to articulate.

 

“James?” Bucky’s voice was soft and a little rough, close to James ear. It made him jump in surprise.

 

“Huh?” He asked, forcing his head to turn. They were so close like this, Bucky’s icy blue eyes were level with his own. Something about it drowned out everything but the rhythm of water hitting glass.

 

“Are you going to pick something?” Bucky asked. Heaven help him, James couldn’t stop staring. “You were staring at the menu screen.”

 

“I…” James pressed his lips in a tight line, scrambling for an answer. _Happy. Whatever that looks like_. Steve’s words lingered at the back of his mind, and James smiled, a small, shaky thing. “...was waiting to see what you wanted.”

 

In the gray light of the storm that shouldn’t be, Bucky looked almost ethereal. The dimness softened all his edges. Like this, he looked to be an entirely different creature, all soft lines and gentle touches. They may as well have rolled back the clock a few hours and crawled under the covers, the way James found himself snared. Bucky gave James a considering look. “All you had to do was ask.”

 

“All…” It was an odd thing to say, but then, it was an odd kind of morning. Steve was giving him space, and couldn’t be expected to spend all day in the kitchen, and heavens, he had to say _something_. All he managed to croak out was, “We’re not talking about movies anymore, are we?

 

It might have been awful of him to find Bucky’s nervousness relieving, but a terrible weight lifted off James’ chest when he looked at his other self. Bucky was watching him, cheeks tinged pink, and his lips slightly parted. There was nothing composed in the tone of his reply. “I… don’t think so.”

 

For a fraction of a second, James was sure Bucky would pull away and that would be the end of it. Bucky breathed out sharply, betraying how nerve wracked he was. “I didn’t think you’d want-”

 

“I know it’s kind of strange but-” James cut in, and maybe this was one of those things that was lovely about them. The unfinished thoughts mattered less when they were filling in each other’s gaps.

 

“ _Life_ is kind of strange. This is just…” Bucky’s brows knit in concentration.

 

“Adapting,” James finished. Bucky grinned at that, and something warm blossomed in James’ chest. Before he could think, before he could second guess himself, before Steve could run out of things to keep preoccupied with, James closed the distance between them.

 

It was practically innocent, even more so in light of the night before. James couldn’t ever recall having kissed a mirror, but he was reasonably positive this was nothing like it. Bucky’s mouth was plush and gave under his, a quiet, tentative thing that squeezed around James’ heart. He lost himself in it, learning the way Bucky’s mouth felt pulling delicately at his bottom lip, and the way Bucky’s whole frame stuttered ever so slightly as James’ fingers found their way to curl in his hair.

All too quickly, it was over. Bucky broke the kiss with a soft hum, lingering with his forehead 

pressed to James'. There was nothing pushy, no demand at all beyond the comfort that came with proximity, lovely and calm in a way that reminded him of Steve and Bucky at the cloisters. Caught up in the middle of it, James decided he could see the appeal. 

"Adapting," Bucky breathed out in agreement. He nudged at James until the space Steve had been sitting in was taken up. James leaned into the corner of the couch, and Bucky followed, relaxing against him like he'd always belonged there. Bucky's nose tucked into the corner of James' neck. James was stunned at how easily it came to him to fold his arms around Bucky, one hand at the back of his other self's head, the other resting between Bucky's shoulder blades. This was better than the night before, better than naked skin and wondering how Bucky's mouth would feel. It was _home_.

By the time Steve came back, they were half asleep on the couch. James didn't even hear Steve over the lull of the rain outside, but he could practically feel Steve standing over them. James cracked an eye open, giving Steve an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

"We can move," Bucky added, the words sleepy and full of gravel.

"Oh no. No, don't move." Steve leaned down, kissing James' mouth and dragging his fingers through Bucky's hair. "You're fine right where you are."

Steve had barely managed to take a seat in the chair beside the couch when James heard Bucky groan against his neck. “He has the sketchbook out, doesn’t he?”

Sure enough, when James looked up, it was just in time to see Steve picking up a pencil. Steve smiled at him and shrugged. “If you were sitting where I was, you’d want a picture of it too.”

The important part, James decided, was that Steve was smiling like he’d woken up to find he’d won the lottery. He looked so content that James couldn’t help but echo the expression. Bucky was a welcome weight against his chest, metal arm dangling off the side of the couch. When James squirmed to get more comfortable, Bucky pressed closer, lips moving tenderly against a patch of skin above the collar of James’ tee-shirt. The rain was so heavy, it hopelessly obscured the view out the window, and the rest of the world seemed impossibly far away.

This. This was what happy looked like. 


	8. Chapter 8

Weeks had tumbled over each other until Steve lost count. It was a strangely pleasant thing to lose track of. There’d been a time before, but it got harder and harder to remember what it was like without James and Bucky together. 

Well, usually together. Just now, Steve was sparring with Bucky. James had run off to R&D with Tony, chattering about something.How lovely was it, that they’d settled so deeply into this life that Steve didn’t think twice about who disappeared to do what?

Steve let out a heavy ‘oof’ as Bucky’s metal fist collided with his chest. They were so well matched, either of them getting a solid hit in was a rarity, but where Bucky once would have worried over Steve, now he just grinned, following it up with a volley of punches that Steve scrambled to block. 

“You distracted this morning?” Bucky asked, shaking his head to move the hair that dangled in his face. He was lethal and lovely, hardly giving Steve a chance to answer before reaching to grab him. 

“We’ve been at this for an hour. Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Steve countered, ducking easily out of the way. Even without the shield, this was instinct to him these days, and he let himself keep going, leg swinging out in an effort to knock Bucky’s from under him. “It was just a lucky hit.”

Bucky should have fallen, but he didn’t. He only wobbled very slightly where Steve caught his ankle. Steve only barely dodged the foot Bucky had aimed for his belly, rolling out of the way because there was not time to get up.

Lightning fast, he went after Steve, and there was no telling if it was a proper sparring match at all anymore, because once Bucky pinned Steve to the ground, he didn’t seem to be putting that much effort into keeping him there. When Steve threw his weight into flipping them over, Bucky went without the slightest push back. 

“You let me do that,” Steve pointed out, despite how blatantly obvious it was. 

“Yeah.” There was that smile again, creasing Bucky’s lips. It took the breath right out of Steve, because Bucky had come home a quiet, serious thing, but something in him was finally blossoming again. James had done something for Bucky that Steve couldn’t, not as a lover, but as a reflection of self. It wasn’t that Bucky was more like James now. It was just that Bucky was recovering pieces of himself, and Steve could have just kissed them both for that little victory. 

“Why?” Steve pressed, because whatever that smile dragged to the surface, there was no time for getting sentimental right now. The thing was, he _knew_ that smile. It was pleasant and playful, and absolutely a threat. 

Bucky didn’t answer at first. He yanked Steve down, pinning him with a metal arm, and hooked his ankle around one of Steve’s legs to immobilize him. All at once, Bucky rolled them over, the slats of his arm whirring slightly as he let all his weight sag against Steve’s breastbone. “Because I like a challenge.”

Steve laughed, relaxing where he lay on the floor. Bucky straddled Steve’s hips, dipping his head until their foreheads touched. It was innocently affectionate, a funny change of pace, and Steve played into it. Bit by bit, he could feel Bucky’s muscles slacken around him. It was precisely what he was waiting for. 

Abruptly, Steve rolled them over again, laughing at the surprised yelp that escaped Bucky. He stayed close, mouth near Bucky’s ear. “Yeah, about that.” 

“That wasn’t even fair,” Bucky complained, sprawled out on the mat in surrender. 

Steve pulled back to look at Bucky. “Who said anything about playing fair?”

There was a soft huff, and Bucky rolled his eyes. “I thought we were having a moment.”

“A moment?” Steve couldn’t help teasing, just a little. The things he kept under wraps when there was an audience around came far easier in this particular company. “What _kind_ of a moment?”

Bucky shoved Steve playfully with his metal hand. He rolled over and up onto his feet in one smooth movement. “Oh no. Too late. Moment’s over. Go take a shower, you punk.”

He’d _missed_ this. Steve would never fault Bucky for his ghosts. It didn’t mean he couldn’t cherish whatever peace led Bucky back to himself. Only, that was an over simplification. He wasn’t his old self, but Bucky was clearly happier, and it was the only thing Steve wanted for him, really.

Steve watched Bucky trot off ahead of him to the locker room showers. It was so easy to take things for granted, that Steve didn’t often spend much time analyzing the details. Not here, anyway. Bucky was lighter though, less somber in the months since James first turned up. He was kinder to himself in tiny, insignificant ways. He was still in the shower, for instance,when Steve finished up, humming a happy sort of melody. 

Smiling to himself, Steve didn’t even tease Bucky for being indulgent. Heaven knew he deserved it. Leaving Bucky to it, Steve dressed and grabbed a comb. There was a long, marbled counter between the lockers with a mirror behind it, and Steve headed for that. 

He was already dragging the comb through his hair when he reached it, broad shoulders nearly as wide as the mirrored glass. He should have taken up nearly all of the picture. The mirror should have reflected his gray t-shirt, blue eyes, set in a face he’d known in one form or another. Only, all he saw was lockers, as if the mirror were reflecting right through him. 

Steve turned around, staring at the burgundy metal of rows of lockers. They took up the entire far wall, set on a shelf that served as a bench for Stark Tower staff who came here to train or work out. The mirror reflected the same thing, a wall of lockers, a bench, a towel someone had forgotten to throw in the hamper. Still, there was no sign of him. 

It was a trick. It had to be some sort of trick. There was no telling, after all, what Tony would decide was funny. Steve turned around, eyes settling on the space where the towel should have been, but there was nothing there. 

“Steve… You okay?” Bucky’s voice cut in, and Steve nearly jumped out of his skin. Bucky frowned, a towel slung around his waist as he used a second one to wring the water from his hair. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Oh, no I’m fine. It was just-” Steve glanced at the mirror and there he was, small black comb stuck comically in his hair. “I just forgot what I was doing for a minute.” 

Bucky laughed as he set about putting his clothes on. “Well, you _are_ an old man. It’s probably forgivable.”

“So are you!” Steve shook off the strangeness of what he’d seen. Definitely a trick, and he wasn’t going to give Tony the satisfaction of admitting he’d fallen for it for even a minute. 

“I’m not the one getting lost in the locker room.” Bucky smirked up at Steve as he put on his shoes, and the whole incident was forgotten. 

By the time they made it out of the locker room, Tony and James were waiting. They were joking about something Steve couldn’t hear. It was oddly heartwarming to see. Bucky and Tony got along just fine, but James and Tony in the other timeline had been downright close. The quips that got under Steve’s skin just encouraged James to volley right back, and Steve couldn’t begin to know what it was like for James to have lost that piece of his existence as well. Clearly, he was finding it once more.

“It’s about time. I thought I might have to send Jarvis,” Tony teased, “and he really doesn’t need to see that.”

Bucky snorted at Tony. “Hanging out with you, I doubt there’s much he hasn’t seen already.”

“ _Honestly_.” Tony shook his head at James, who was stifling a laugh. “Bring a guy new toys and all he wants to do is make fun of me.”

“No missile launchers,” James promised, before Bucky could open his mouth. Tony held out a case, and Steve watched Bucky peer at the contents. 

“I have knives.” Bucky’s brows knit comically. Still, he lifted one of them from the case, testing its weight and balance. 

“Yeah. Now you have better ones,” Tony countered. “They’re lighter and stronger than the old ones.”

If there was any forgetting how deadly Bucky could be, there were no illusions, watching him move. He was quick, one stance bleeding into the next, and Steve barely saw the knife he was holding move from one hand to the other. What he did see was James staring in open admiration. 

Bucky must have caught that look too. He smiled, the expression half hidden behind his damp hair. “Grab the other one. I’ll show you.”

There was no telling if it was an attempt to make something good of what Hydra had done to him, or if Bucky just liked impressing James. As complicated as all this was, it could easily have been either. Tony and Steve watched them though, and Bucky walked James through using the weapon. James’ background was heavily divergent from Bucky’s in terms of hand to hand combat, but he was a quick study, and soon enough, Steve could hear the metallic clang of the knife against Bucky’s arm as they moved across the mats. 

“You’re boyfriends are terrifying,” Tony commented, watching Bucky intentionally just miss clipping James’ arm with the blade. 

Steve snorted, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. “You armed them.”

“I heard that-” James started. It broke his concentration just enough, and Bucky grabbed the blade of his knife, tossing it away. It landed with a clatter on the tile beyond the mats. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you move like that since you were trying to kill me.” Steve’s jaw clicked shut as he realized what he’d said. He glanced at Bucky, but there was no indication that he was upset by it. 

“You tried to _kill_ him?” James exclaimed. Months before, he’d probably have been backing away, but now there was no fear accompanying the question.

Bucky gave him a sheepish, slightly uncomfortable look. “Brainwashing.”

“You sound nostalgic,” Tony pointed out, shaking his head. “How the hell is attempted murder nostalgic?”

Whatever discomfort Bucky felt was clearly brief. He huffed out a laugh as he scooped up the fallen knife, offering it back to James. “Oh, come on. Steve’s lack of survival instinct is _not_ a secret.” 

“That doesn’t make it less stupid,” James argued, taking the knife and glaring at Steve across the room. “How did you even survive in this timeline without one of us?”

“Mostly by being too much of a popsicle to get into trouble,” Tony pointed out. “The better question is how does he survive with _two_ of you?”

“Tony.” Steve frowned as he looked over at Stark. 

James was grinning wickedly. “It’s a really big bed.”

“ _James_.” Steve groused, pointedly ignoring the warmth that crept into his cheeks. 

Bucky shrugged, nose scrunching in amusement as he caught Steve’s eye. “I don’t bring my knives.”

“That is considerably more than I needed to know, thanks,” Tony replied, and as much as the topic made Steve’s stomach squirm, he took great pleasure in letting Tony be a little uncomfortable for once. 

xxxxxxxxxxxx

They’d barely gotten home when the missive came through. Bucky looked at his phone as he kicked off his shoes. 

“I know that look. It’s a ‘well there goes the evening look’. I know, because that’s the look _my_ face makes when someone ruins my evening.” James didn’t wait for an answer, already heading to the kitchen. 

“Mission?” Steve asked, though he probably already knew the answer. Steve knew him better than anyone. 

“Six a.m. briefing,” Bucky replied, pocketing his phone. He continued before James could groan in protest. “Don’t worry. You get to sleep in. It’s just me.”

“They probably need your knife fighting skills,” James teased, his voice muffled as he reached into the fridge. “But right now, I need them. Come chop these. I need the onion, so that first… and the tomato.” 

“Who put you charge?” Bucky asked, even as he made his way into the kitchen. Steve was close on his heel, and really, it was a miracle all three of them fit at all. They worked so well together though, maybe it shouldn’t have been so surprising.

“I did, by virtue of not dawdling,” James replied, pulling pots out of one of the cabinets. 

Steve nudged playfully against Bucky. “I think he just wanted an excuse to boss us around.”

“I think _I_ just want dinner sometime tonight.” Bucky was smiling though, browning ground beef in one of the pots. 

They worked well, deftly navigating around each other. It was domestic in a way Bucky so rarely got to be. Before the war, he’d always sort of hoped he’d get to have a home and a family, but he’d never pictured it quite like this. 

Bucky was so lost in thought, he didn’t quite catch whatever conversation James was having with Steve. He did look up in time to catch James smear the back of a spoon covered in spaghetti sauce across Steve’s cheek. Bucky was wise enough to duck out of the way before Steve remembered he had a rubber scraper covered in garlic butter. Said garlic butter promptly ended up in James’ hair. 

“Aw, come on. That’s gonna be a pain to wash out,” James whined. 

Steve was unmoved. “I guess you should have thought of that.”

“If you’re done, the sauce is bubbling,” Bucky grumbled, but his mouth twitched helplessly as he fought to suppress a grin. This wasn’t the home and family he’d pictured, but it was _exactly_ what he wanted.

xxx

By some miracle, they made it from dinner to a movie and then to bed with no further casualties. James’ hair still smelled like garlic butter, which he’d gleefully tucked right under Steve’s chin once they got in bed. Bucky might have protested, but he was pretty sure if he spoke up every time he wanted to protest something James did, people might start mistaking him for Steve. 

Smiling to himself, Bucky turned off the light, padding across the carpet to crawl into bed. Steve was a warm weight in the middle of it, perfectly situated for Bucky to curl around his back. They both slept better this way, and Bucky melted into it out of habit, draping his arm over Steve’s side, fingers coming to rest on James’ bicep. 

In the dark and the quiet, listening to the soft cadence of their breathing, Bucky wondered how they must look. Close as they were, they still took up most of the bed, a tangle of limbs and bed linens. That was alright though, as far as Bucky was concerned. Every moment they spent like this was one where they weren’t alone. None of them had to be alone. 

It was about then that Bucky noticed the shift in someone’s breathing beside him. Steve’s shoulders rose and fell the same as ever, the way they always did when he was in that limbo between wakefulness and sleep. That left James, so Bucky lifted his head, trying to look over Steve’s shoulder. There wasn’t much to see but a pale slip of skin where James’ face was mostly tucked against Steve’s chest. Bucky squeezed James’ arm, brows knit with concern as he whispered. “You okay?”

The silence stretched out, and Bucky frowned, wondering what could have possibly gone wrong in the last few minutes. James drew in a shaky breath, and then he let it out in a laugh he seemed to be desperately trying to stifle. That got Steve’s attention, and he sat up slightly, hair tickling Bucky’s nose. “What on _earth_ is so funny?”

Bucky couldn’t see James very well, but he could hear the way his other self gulped in a breath and then another. “I was just marveling at how we’re all in close proximity and you continue to survive.”

That was enough to get Bucky on the same page. He smiled slyly in the dark. “Tony would be _shocked_.”

Steve flopped back against the pillows with a low groan. “You two are impossible.”

“Careful,” Bucky teased. “The night is young.”

“Well, I think we’re okay so long as you didn’t come to bed armed,” James volleyed back effortlessly. “You didn’t, did you?”

“I thought we were sleeping,” Steve grumbled. The edge of his voice wobbled, right on the edge of a laugh. 

It only egged Bucky on. He reached deftly past Steve to prod playfully at James with flesh and metal hands. “Dunno. Pretty sure I’ve got both arms. You tell me.”

If James said anything, Bucky didn’t catch it. What he _did_ catch was a pillow in the face from Steve. “I’m drawing a line. No bad puns in bed.” 

“That’s so subjective, though. How do you plan on measuring that?” James pressed, laughing through the question. 

“What if I make up for subjecting you to them? I feel like a few bad puns are well worth-” Bucky didn’t get to finish before there was a pillow in his face again. 

“I don’t think Steve wants you to make it up to him, but you could make it up to _me_.” Anything else James might have said was silenced in with a soft ‘oof’ that was very likely stuffing filled fabric against this face. 

“You can make it up to be by letting me go to sleep,” Steve retorted, laughing all the while. 

“Says the guy trying to start a pillow fight,” Bucky teased, rolling close enough to hopefully steal a kiss in the dark. He missed rather egregiously, catching the side of Steve’s neck instead. 

“Oh no you don’t. Don’t even start that,” Steve chastised. 

“I wasn’t, but now that you mention it... “ Bucky was grinning so hard his mouth hurt.

“I mentioned nothing,” Steve protested. “Unless you’re talking about sleep. I definitely mentioned sleep.”

“Alright, fine. We heard you.” James sighed theatrically, but he didn’t egg Bucky on any further. As their laughter dissipated, fatigue finally edging out everything else. Bucky rolled over, nudging his knees between Steve’s, and let sleep take him. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

James would have sworn it was a light that woke him up, something sinister, snaking overhead. He snapped his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling, but there was nothing. Moonlight filtered around the edges of the blinds, but otherwise they were shrouded in the comfortable darkness of 3 a.m. in the bedroom they shared. Steve was fast asleep, curled up around James. A glance over Steve’s shoulder confirmed Bucky was as well, his hair a disheveled mop poking out from under the blankets. 

Lulled by safety and the quiet, even sounds of Bucky and Steve breathing, James settled back down in the blankets. Steve was a warm, solid weight that was so easy to sink into, and for once, Bucky hadn’t stolen the covers. James huffed out a sigh and closed his eyes, drifting back towards slumber. 

A heavy thud overhead jarred James right back out of it. Maybe someone had fallen out of bed upstairs. There was a creak, and then another thump, and then another. Honestly, the kids upstairs, but it was _3 in the morning_. Footfalls hit the floor overhead, and James scowled, rolling over and trying to get back to sleep. 

There was nothing for it. James scowled at Bucky and Steve, just a touch sour over their ability to sleep through this ruckus, or maybe just that he _couldn’t_. Giving up, James slid out of Steve’s arms, quietly padding through the darkened apartment. Disheveled and dressed in only his pajama pants, James quietly pulled open the door, grimacing at the lights in the hallway. 

It wasn’t overly bright, but everything felt too bright when all James wanted to do was sleep. He shuffled along to the elevator, resting his head sleepily against the wall beside it while he waited for the doors to open. Even the ding of it reaching his floor was more stimulation than James had any interest in this time of night. 

Up James went, scowling at the chime that helpfully reminded him he’d reached his destination. The doors opened on a floor identical to his own. It could have been any floor in the building. Any floor in the building didn’t have small children stomping around at 3 in the morning though, so James scrubbed his face and made his way to the door of the usual culprits. 

Sure enough, he was only halfway down the hallway when the door opened, and a little girl slipped out. She was barefoot in her nightgown, and despite James’ annoyance, he smiled. Claudia was a regular escape artist. James had found her roaming the halls just after he and Steve had moved in, and the real miracle was that she ever stayed away. 

“Ohhhhh no you don’t,” James chided, reaching down to scoop Claudia up. “Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”

“Bucky!” Claudia grinned at him, absurdly awake for this late at night. Something about the name pulled at his chest, but James didn’t comment on it, and Claudia babbled on. “I wasn’t tired.”

“Yeah, kiddo, but I’m tired and you’re keeping me awake with all that running,” James chided. It was hard to be all that bothered though, not when she leaned in, wrapping her slender arms around his neck. “Where’s your ma?”

Claudia flashed James a gleeful little smile. “She’s sleepin’.”

“Well, I need to be sleeping, and you should also be sleeping, so I’ll tell you what,” James murmured as he walked towards the apartment door, leaning in like he meant to impart some great secret. 

“What?” Claudia whispered rather loudly. 

“If you go back to bed, I won’t tell your ma you were running around the hallway.” James set Claudia down, and she nodded vigorously. James held out his hand to her. “Is that a deal?”

“It’s a deal.” Claudia gave him a theatrically somber look, shaking his hand as hard as she could. By some miracle, James managed to keep a straight face as Claudia wrapped her tiny hand around the door handle and pushed it open. 

“Goodnight Bucky!” Claudia whispered, slipping inside. That was when James saw it. Just a glimpse. Everything was ink and shadows, like a painting in shades of gray, left to drip and run together. 

Claudia’s mother wasn’t there. Everything that made the place a home was stripped away, until there were only bare windows and empty floors. The stars left strange echoes of light across flooring, dulled by pristine carpet. He thought to explore further, to make sure she wasn’t alone, but every nerve screeched at the very idea of setting foot in the empty apartment. As James tried to make sense of that, Claudia shut the door. 

“Claudia, wait,” James started. Against his better judgment, he turned the handle and pushed, hoping Claudia’s mother wouldn’t be on the other side, thinking he was breaking in. He took a breath, bracing to explain himself. In the end, he never had to. The door wouldn’t open.

At a loss for answers, and utterly confused, James stumbled back to the elevator to his own floor. The further he got, the less real any of it felt. He’d been falling asleep waiting for the elevator, after all. Could he really believe the nonsense his sleep addled brain concocted?

Bucky and Steve were still asleep when he returned, and that settled it. As alert as they both were, they would have heard if there was anything to hear. Wouldn’t they? Unsettled but exhausted, James gave up and crawled back under the covers. Maybe it would make more sense in the morning. 

\---

By the time James woke up, the bed was empty. It was already past time for Bucky’s morning briefing, and Steve was dressing for a run. Steve smiled at James. “You sleep alright?”

James’ brows furrowed as he considered the question. The night before felt far away, and James wondered if he hadn’t dreamed it entirely. He’d been half asleep after all, and the more he thought, the less real any of it felt to James. A dream, he decided. A strange, unsettling dream. The best thing to do with dreams like that was to shake them off. 

“Wait up.” James sat up, scrubbing his hand over his face. His hair pointed in a dozen different directions, but he mostly ignored it. “I’ll come with you.”

Steve waited and James got dressed, and he was barely even awake when he found himself in the elevator of the apartment complex. He leaned against the railing, listening to the elevator chime off each floor on the way down. 

“You sure you want to go running? You look like you’d be better off going back to bed.” Steve nudged fondly at James’ arm until he looked up from where he’d been staring at the flooring. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” James smiled, forcing himself to stand up straighter. “I just slept funny is all. I had a weird dream I think. Something about kids running around in that apartment right above ours.”

Steve chuckled at that, though James had no idea what made it funny. “No one lives upstairs. Bucky was adamant, and he must have convinced someone it was worth the investment to keep anyone from getting the drop on us. You wouldn’t believe what an empty apartment costs these days.”

“What about Claudia and her mom?” James blurted out. 

Steve’s expression scrunched in a brief show of confusion that bled out as his mouth formed a soft ‘o’. “I don’t think they ever moved in on this side of things. I’ve never run into them, anyway.”

That settled it, then. Though it clung to James like a strange memory, the night before couldn’t be anything but a dream. He’d held her though, hadn’t he? James swore he remembered what that felt like, but maybe it was just a product of missing his own time line. Happy as he was, it still happened sometimes. 

“You okay, pal?” Steve’s voice cut through the clutter in James’ head. Whatever else, that voice was right, and one unsettling dream was nothing to fret over. 

“Course I’m okay.” They hit the first floor and the doors of the elevator opened. James jogged through it, already heading for the entrance to the building. Somewhere to his left and behind him, the doorman called from the front desk, suggesting maybe he could slow down just a _little_. It pulled a grin from James in spite of himself. That was exactly the right kind of familiar. He was probably going to have to send the poor man a fruit basket or something for all the mornings he had to do that. 

It was like old times in a way James and Steve so rarely were. They fell together as easily as they always had. A run through Prospect Park was the perfect distraction from whatever unsettling dreams James had had the night before. He couldn’t remember the last time just the two of them had done anything together, but it felt important. It was important because he could thread his fingers between Steve’s as they walked home, utterly focused on the man beside him. It was important because it didn’t mean either of them love Bucky any less in his absence. Somewhere along the way balance stopped being so consuming and difficult to find.

Bucky being gone felt, privately, like some manner of test. A few months before, it would have left James dreading his other self’s return, but now Bucky’s absence was a fond sort of ache in his chest. Sprawled out in the darkness, tangled up in bed sheets and bare skin, the mattress felt almost too big for just the two of them. James smiled at nothing as he drifted off with Steve’s nose tucked against the side of his neck and looked forward to Bucky coming home.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It just figured that about the time Bucky walked in the door, Steve was walking out of it. There’d been a hug and a kiss and something about a meeting with Stark, but that was alright, Bucky decided. He was home with popcorn and a movie and James, and there wasn’t much to complain about there. 

“You’re not allowed to pick the movies anymore. This is _terrible_ ,” James whined, all of about twenty minutes into Battlefield Earth. 

“That’s the point,” Bucky retorted, but his eyes weren’t on the movie. They kept flicking to James’ face, lit only by the television. Even in the shadows and inconsistent light, he was so expressive. 

“The point is for it to be unwatchable?” James grinned at him, sly and sharp edged. “Careful. I might start thinking you didn’t want to watch the movie at all.”

Bucky threw a piece of popcorn from the bowl on the couch between them. It bounced off James’ chin and landed on his shirt. Very definitely not staring at the way James’ long, nimble fingers plucked it from the fabric and brought it to his lips, Bucky shook himself enough to respond. “No. It’s one of those things that’s so bad, it’s good.”

James laughed, light and carefree. “That is not how those words work.” 

Bucky huffed out a sigh and threw another piece of popcorn at James. “It’s a _genre_.”

“No,” James retorted, movie forgotten as he turned more towards Bucky. He swiped a handful of popcorn before he finished. “I mean maybe, but only if the genre is ‘movies so bad you want a refund on the time you wasted watching them’.”

Bucky opened his mouth to speak, but James caught him in the nose with a piece of popcorn. “Hey!”

“What?” James asked innocently, pressing a piece of popcorn between his lips. The tip of his finger followed, and it probably wasn’t even intentional, but Bucky stared anyway. Only, nevermind. Judging by the smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, he knew exactly what he was doing, even as he innocently replied, “You started it.”

“You were being a menace,” Bucky insisted. The words were punctuated by another couple of pieces of popcorn being tossed at James. At this point, he was pretty sure he’d used more of it as ammunition than he’d actually eaten. 

“ _I’m_ a menace?” James squawked playfully, holding up one of the pieces of popcorn Bucky had thrown before chucking it back. It was followed by an entire handful more. 

“Oh, come on.” Bucky complained as one of the popcorn pieces got stuck in the edge of the couch cushion and two more fell on the floor. “That’s just _rude_.”

James picked up another handful of popcorn, but he seemed more interested in eating it than throwing it. “I think you’re just jealous because my way was more effective.”

“I’ll show you more effective.” Impulsively, Bucky upended the entire bowl over James’ head. 

For a second, the only response Bucky got was James sitting on the couch, wide eyed with surprise. The effect was only magnified by the flickering of the television. James mouth twitched once, and then twice and then he was laughing, teeth dragging across his bottom lip. 

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh along. “Steve is going to kill us.”

“Well, we clearly just need a better excuse for why there’s popcorn all over the floor,” James suggested, dusting a few of the kernels out of his hair. 

“We could always just pick it up,” Bucky ventured, smiling a little at the utterly horrified look he got from James in response. 

“Absolutely not. That’s boring.” James nudged at the overturned bowl where it had landed on the carpet. 

Bucky hummed. “But probably less work than trying to come up with a good excuse for why we couldn’t have a five minute conversation that didn’t involve a bowl of popcorn on the floor.”

“See,” James cut in. “ _That_ was the problem.”

There was a trick in that statement, Bucky was certain. It didn’t stop him from asking, “The popcorn?”

“No… The _conversation_.” James’ voice was low and soft in a way that shivered its way right down Bucky’s spine. “We’re really better off without it. Incidentally, that’s also the perfect excuse for this mess.”

Bucky was slow to catch on, but it was less a matter of missing the idea, and more that he was hopelessly distracted. James had leaned in, and Buckys’ breath caught subtly. This was all still so gloriously new, that Bucky found himself hanging on James’ every move as he murmured back, “What excuse.” 

“There just wasn’t room on the couch for the popcorn,” James said seriously. Well, it sounded serious. Mostly, James’ face was too close for Bucky to tell. Then, James’ mouth slotted eagerly against his, and it didn’t matter at all.

One kiss became two then three, burning slowly along his nerves like embers stoked to life. James pulled back slightly to catch his breath, but Bucky followed, instinct pulling them right back together. At some point, Bucky’s hands found their way to James’ back, dragging along his shoulder blades and down his spine, reeling him in.

It should have been weird, shouldn’t it? Bucky had gone around and around about this, but it never seemed worth the internal struggle. The ease with which James’ fingers slipped into his hair cut off that train of thought entirely. The noise of it was drowned out by the way James’ grabbed at the strands, fingers curling inward until the pull of them made Bucky’s mouth open on a pleased sort of sigh. 

There was a duality of sorts to them, a push and pull that was never more stark than in these moments. James pressed, tongue delving between Bucky’s parted lips to curl in his mouth. He tasted like butter and salt, and Bucky surrendered, arms winding around James. That wasn’t always the truth of them, but it was tonight. 

The strangest thing about this was how normal it had become. Bucky kept expecting to be repulsed by his own behavior. They’d come together so thoroughly though, that he scarcely gave it a second though. Bucky melted into James every bit as easily as Steve. 

Melt _into_ wasn't quite an accurate descriptor given the way he felt himself fall backwards against the arm of the couch. Melt was too slow a word for the way his heart raced, the way every place James touched him felt electric. Bucky could likely have snapped James in half if he really wanted to, but he gave in, dragging at James as he went. James crawled up the length of Bucky’s body, hands coming to rest on either side of his head on the arm of the couch. Looking up at the rather sinful way that James was grinning. It was lovely, but impatience was already creeping in. Bucky reached up to curl his fingers in the collar of James’ shirt and _tugged_. 

Maybe it was the space battle that served as a soundtrack, or maybe it was just desire that left everything feeling so urgent. Bucky lifted his head, pulling James in to meet him. Their mouths crashed together again, and distantly, Bucky was aware of the way James shifted his weight to one hand. The other dragged roughly down Bucky’s chest and stomach in search of the hem of his t-shirt. Bucky arched his spine, lifting off the couch a little as James rucked his shirt up. The fabric dragged across the pert nubs of his nipples, and James’ thumbs followed, toying briefly with the rings pierced through them until Bucky gasped. He hadn’t thought much about this particular application when he’d gotten them done, but the way his body stuttered, he was _certainly_ thinking about it now. The movement dragged Bucky’s hips against James’, the friction only winding him up further. A soft gasp against Bucky’s lips suggested it was an utterly mutual feeling. 

They fit exquisitely despite their differences, or perhaps because of them. James nipped playfully at Bucky’s bottom lip and flitted away rather brazenly to his jaw. There was nothing coy or innocent about the open mouthed kisses, and James’ teeth dragging against Bucky’s skin. If there’d been any sort of ambiguity, it was snuffed out by the way James’ made his way to the junction of Bucky’s throat and bit. Bucky responded helplessly, jerking up against James and clutching at the fabric covering his back.

It all ran together after that, and Bucky could have drowned quite happily. Instinct rolled Bucky’s hips forward, and he was never entirely sure if the moan that followed came from James or him. Blunt nails dragged along his flanks as James shimmied down the length of Bucky’s body. James’ tongue burned across Bucky’s bare skin and Bucky barely noticed that way he pressed into the contact. 

Bucky laughed at how impatient James was, even though he didn’t have any room to complain. He lifted his hips to help James rid him of his jeans and underwear, taking little notice of where the offending fabric was dumped. Mostly, his focus narrowed to James’ hand on his knee, skimming the inside of his thigh to push his leg off the couch

“You really don’t have…” Bucky started. It was one of those protests that was practically scripted. It was a thing he thought maybe he was meant to say, but everything about him begged James not to take him up on the out he offered. He was flushed and breathing roughly, sharp intakes of air dying on a low moan when James interrupted his protests with a hand around his cock. 

“Don’t have to what? This?” James grinned wickedly, dragging his palm from base to tip. His eyes lit up at the whimper it pulled from Bucky. “Oh, I don’t know. We’ve got this story to sell.”

“Huh?” Bucky had forgotten entirely about how this had started. James’ breath was warm against his hip, and the promise of it was so lovely, that Bucky really couldn’t be bothered to try and remember. 

“Besides,” James rumbled, sinking down to his knees and tugging Bucky closer by his hips. “I like this. You like this. Shut up and stop trying to be polite.”

Bucky never got the chance to protest. The world narrowed to the flat of James’ tongue dragging up the underside of Bucky’s length. The breath he sucked in let out in a shudder. 

Usually, if anyone had their mouth on him like this, it was Steve. James was delightfully different. Bucky groaned helplessly as James’ lips sealed around the head of his cock. It was all he could do not to move as James bobbed his head, pulling Bucky in entirely. The heat and pressure of it was exquisite, leaving Bucky’s breathing ragged already. 

James trapped Bucky between the flat of his tongue and the satiny roof of his mouth, and Bucky nearly found himself undone. He scrabbled for something, anything, to hold onto, his flesh and blood fingers curling urgently in James’ hair. Bucky wanted to complain about how funny James seemed to find it, but the amused chuckle he’d elicited rumbled around Bucky’s length, and all he could do was whimper. 

Bucky lifted his head, because he couldn’t help but look as James bobbed his head. James’ eyes met Bucky’s in the near dark, lewd and full of mischief. It was rough and playful, and every time Bucky thought he knew what to anticipate, the rhythm changed. James dragged his tongue around the head of Bucky’s length until he hissed through his teeth, and the short, quick movements Bucky was just starting to get used to gave way to long and slow and James’ nose in the wiry curls at the base of his cock. James’ cheeks hollowed out to offer more friction, and Bucky’s toes curled at the sensation. He scrabbled at the couch cushions with his metal hand, hips canting forward before he could stop himself. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmured, but James made a rather disagreeable sound around him. There was an encouraging tug at his hips, and that just wasn’t _fair_. It was impossible to have any kind of manners at all with James’ going to such lengths to lure him over the edge. 

Bucky wasn’t quite sure when sensation teetered from pleasant to overwhelmingly good. He panted and shuddered as James worked him over, head falling back against the arm of the couch. James’ nails skittered up the insides of his thighs until his heels dug into James’ shoulder and the floorboard. His attempts to articulate the pressure building low in his belly only made James’ lips pull more tightly around him. 

“Jesus, _fuck_ ,” Bucky sobbed as something short circuited. Distantly, he was aware of the way he pulled roughly at James’ hair as he came, gasping at the ceiling. It was all he could do to catch his breath as James rode out the aftershocks, swallowing around him. 

“Ohhhhh. Okay. Okay,” Bucky whined when it was more than he could handle. James pulled off him just to nose at the divot of his hip, breath coming out in a soft, warm puff. 

“Just okay?” James teased. “That didn’t look like just okay.”

“Oh shut up,” Bucky replied, the words a shuddery sigh off his lips. 

“You’re not really giving me much motivation to do anything like that.” In the dark, Bucky just could make out the comical eyebrow wiggle that came with that. 

“C’mere and I just might,” Bucky coaxed, reaching haphazardly for James. He wanted, wanted, wanted, but none of his limbs seemed keen on cooperating. 

Luckily for him, James was happy to. James pressed a kiss to the inside of Bucky’s thigh that made him squirm and then crawled back up onto the couch. “Sorry… _Where_ did you want me?”

“Menace,” Bucky complained, even as his arms wound around James’ back. 

“And yet, here we are,” James murmured, laughing when Bucky tugged his head down for a kiss. It was a rough tug of lips and teeth and Bucky ignored the bitter taste of himself as he licked into James’ mouth. It was well worth it for the low moan that vibrated under Bucky’s fingers where the snuck beneath the hem of James’ shirt. 

“I think you’re a little overdressed for the occasion,” Bucky complained between kisses, reveling in the warmth that gathered between James’ skin and the fabric of his top. They were good like this, playfully affectionate. James rested his weight on the arm of the couch, the fingers of his free hand carding through Bucky’s hair. It wasn’t remotely fair, because Bucky was trying to return the favor, but James kept unraveling him further. 

“That’s unfortunate,” James rumbled in the space between kisses, like it hadn’t even occurred to him. The taut line of his body and the insistent press of his hips against Bucky gave the truth away, but the teasing was rather a lot of his charm. 

“It is. If you quit distracting me, I might even fix it,” Bucky teased right back. Bucky traced the jut of James’ shoulderblades, the slope of James’ spine, finally fanning out along the small of his back. James’ squirmed and nipped at his lips, rocking instinctively closer.

“You’re fun to distract.” James’ kisses drifted from Bucky’s lips along the underside of his jaw. Bucky closed his eyes and offered up his throat, but it didn’t stop him from flicking open the clasp of James’ slacks. James’ teeth playfully sank into the junction of Bucky’s neck and jaw and Bucky moaned, cock twitching with interest despite the sated, boneless sensation that crawled along his limbs. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Bucky murmured, tugging James’ slacks and underwear down the slight jut of his hips to settle at his thighs. 

James laughed, the sound choking off in a helpless whimper as Bucky curled a hand around the base of his cock. His warm breath against the damp place he’d left made Bucky shiver. 

“Whatever you say,” James prodded, nose resting in the crook of Bucky’s shoulder. It was such a simple thing, to take things he knew made him weak and translate them to the way he touched James. It seemed to be working, or maybe James was just worked up already. Bucky’s fingers curled just firmly enough around James, his palm dragging against the head of James’ cock as he moved. James’ breath caught and stuttered in his chest. “God. _Whatever_ you say.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Bucky teased. He might have said more, but James bit at the crook of his neck and shoulder, and Bucky had to bite his lip to stifle a pleased groan. It was too bad they were on the couch. It was too bad the bedroom was so far away, but there was later. There was always, always later. For the moment, Bucky just enjoyed the attention at face value, throwing himself into pushing James over the edge. 

Unraveled as James was already, it didn’t take long. Bucky felt James fingers tighten in his hair, his breath coming quick and uneven. They traded rough, disjointed kisses, as much teeth as anything, but there was something lovely in the playful enthusiasm of it all. They were rushed and artless, and it was _wonderful_.

All too soon, James’ body went stiff over Bucky’s. James pressed his face against Bucky’s neck, and Bucky cradled the back of his head with one hand while the other dragged relentlessly along the length of James’ cock. He was lovely like this, Bucky thought. James was always so lovely when he came undone. 

“Bucky,” James stuttered out, the words muffled against Bucky’s skin. There was a shiver down James’ spine and through his hips as Bucky kept jerking him off, and Bucky could just hear James nails scrabbling for purchase in the fabric of the couch. 

“Mmhmm?” Bucky prodded, thumb slipping over the tip of James’ cock with each downward stroke. Precome beaded under it, leaving the pad of his thumb a little slick. 

James’ whole body jerked once, twice, and then he was coming, hot and sticky across Bucky’s hips and belly. Bucky hardly noticed, too wrapped up in the way James pressed into him, all affection and pleasure as he whispered Bucky’s name over and over against the shell of his ear. 

For a little while, the two of them lay there, all gasping breaths and warmth. It was hard to care about the stickiness across his stomach when James fit so nicely against him. James’ nose was pressed into the crook of Bucky’s neck and shoulder, short hair ticking Bucky’s cheek. James hummed at the cool press of metal against his back as Bucky embraced that too. The sound vibrated against Bucky’s skin. It was a small, quiet thing, but it made Bucky smile. 

“See?” James mumbled, the sound so muffled that Bucky almost missed it. 

“See what?” Bucky asked, the fingers of his flesh and blood hand idly dragging through James’ hair. 

He could feel James’ lips curl up at the edges. “There’s a perfectly acceptable reason the popcorn ended up on the floor.”

Bucky snorted, glancing at the mess of popped kernels all over the carpet. They’d have to get around to cleaning it up eventually, but eventually wasn’t right this second. “You’re still on about that?”

“All I’m saying,” James rumbled, tilting his head up until his lips moved against the column of Bucky’s throat. Knowing James, the way the sensation made Bucky’s toes curl was entirely on purpose. Bucky ignored it as James finished, “...is that it was always doomed to end up there. Our conversation just, you know, helped it along a little.”

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He hadn’t wanted to leave, but Tony had been insistent. _The machined is fixed,_ he’d said. _You should come see it_ , he’d said. Ignoring the awful knot in his belly, Steve had complied. 

True to Tony’s word, the machine looked as good as new. It thrummed quietly, the suggestion of it leaving Steve uneasy. “Honestly, after what happened last time, I’d thought you’d have scrapped it.”

“Last time wasn’t the technology,” Tony snorted. “That was user error.”

“User error?” Steve arched an eyebrow at Tony. “What happened was something you claimed was impossible. How is that user error?”

Tony made a face and waved him off. “It _was_ impossible… practically. I just didn’t know enough about the serum to account for it in conjunction with you choosing the most compromising moment of your whole life to go back to.”

“It was the best basis of comparison I had for what you were asking of Bucky,” Steve replied, just a touch defensively. James and Bucky fell into banter with Tony easily, but the man usually just made Steve tense. 

Tony smirked, as if he didn’t feel how fraught the empty spaces in their conversation were. “Does that mean bringing back an extra one was payback?”

“Is that why you fixed the machine? To undo all this?” That was the crux of what was gnawing at him, Steve realized. This wasn’t just Tony showing off something he’d built. Everything about this situation felt loaded. 

“I fixed it because it was broken and because it had a point before you went changing history,” Tony replied. His gaze went sharp and calculated. “Why? Do you _want_ to undo it?”

Steve couldn’t help the way he bristled. “You said it was too dangerous.”

“I did say that,” Tony agreed, nodding along. Something inscrutable shifted in his expression. “But that’s not the question I asked. You’re being awfully cagey, Cap.”

What was he supposed to say to that? It was one thing to come to terms with circumstances as they were, but it felt very different to own out loud to someone like Tony that maybe he hadn’t just come to terms. He’d embraced them. They were happy like this, strange as the truth sounded when he tried to put it into words. 

“I don’t see how what I want is any more material to the situation now than it was months ago,” Steve replied coolly. It wasn’t entirely fair, maybe, but something about Tony’s line of question felt antagonistic. To be fair, half the time Tony’s existence in the same room felt antagonistic.

All at once, Tony’s expression brightened, leaving him looking outright gleeful. “Oh, it’s not.”

Steve was pretty sure he was the butt of a joke, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was. Crossing his arms, he pressed, “Then why did you ask?”

“Oh, I just wanted to hear you admit that you _like_ this arrangement.” Tony admitted. “Come on. Captain America enjoying having two versions of his boyfriend around? Everything about that is delightfully non-conformist.”

Steve should have known as much. All the same, Steve felt his shoulders sink slightly as he relaxed. Better to be subject to the poking fun that Tony seemed to think friendship was than for them to land on opposite sides of a serious issue. Either way, he wasn’t about to give Tony the satisfaction of admitting how well this had worked out. “We make do.”

“Kinda seems like more than making do,” Tony pushed, because of course he did. 

“I am _not_ discussing my-” Steve started, but he was interrupted by a crackle, like electricity sparking along a bare wire. Light flickered out of nowhere in a disjointed bolt that arced around Steve. It was equal parts allure and revulsion, as if Steve were well and truly of two minds. 

“What the hell?” Tony breathed out, staring at the thing between him and Steve. 

Within the light, there was a gaping maw of inky nothingness. The light yawned until the darkness was all that Steve’s eyes were drawn to. He might have melted into it if not for something in him that pulled the other way. _The machine_. It was the only explanation he had. 

“Turn it off,” he gritted out, backing away, because how was he supposed to fight this? Tony was already on it, the machine going abruptly silent. 

The light lingered a moment longer, flickering and reaching towards him. Each step back Steve took, the light slithered closer. It rolled along his arm in a sinister sort of caress, though the sensation was startlingly lacking. When Steve jerked away, it sputtered and faded as quickly as it had appeared. 

“I’m going to assume that wasn’t supposed to happen.” Steve breathed out, watching the empty space where the light had been. There was nothing there, of course, but the sensation was still sticky on his skin. 

“Yeah, that’s… not my usual brand of party trick,” Tony replied, inspecting a set of wires that trailed off the machine. 

There was more after that, but Steve wasn’t listening. Something about what he’d seen stayed with him, and Steve couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He managed some semblance of a goodbye, trying to shake off the sense of _wrong_ about what he’d seen. It wasn’t that it was weird or dangerous that had him on edge. His life was often weird or dangerous, usually both. Mostly, it was the sense that it had meant to devour him specifically. Mostly, it was the strange little whisper in the shadows of his mind that suggested he should have let it. 

\---

The apartment was quiet when Steve opened the door, save for the menu music for the movie still lit up on the television. It wasn’t that late, was it? Quietly, Steve stepped around the side of the couch. James was sprawled out over Bucky, the two of them beneath a haphazardly draped blanket. Judging by the popcorn all over the floor, and the fact that someone’s pants had ended up half under the coffee table, Steve had an idea or two of what had happened. 

His lips curled up in a relieved smile as he watched them sleep. Some part of him always worried that Bucky and James were making the best of a situation they didn’t entirely want, and his recent encounter with Tony had only intensified that worry. Yet, here were Bucky and James tangled up together now, just because they wanted to be. Steve’s presence hadn’t been a requirement in the slightest. 

“Mmm?” It was Bucky who stirred first, cracking an eye open and tilting his head over the back of the couch to look at Steve. 

“That can’t be comfortable,” Steve commented, gesturing to the way Bucky had craned his neck. 

“Well, if you came where I could see you…” Bucky waved his hand over to the side of the couch, and Steve could pick out the exact moment he noticed the mess on the floor. “...Mind the popcorn.”

“It was doomed,” James added, his voice mostly muffled against Bucky’s shirt. 

Steve lifted an eyebrow. “Doomed?”

“Well, yeah. We were watching a movie. “ Bucky started, before going curiously silent. 

James lifted his head, sighing dramatically, “A _terrible_ movie, and he couldn’t just concede that it was a terrible movie.”

“James,” Bucky cut in.

James wasn’t listening. “So, it kind of escalated, and it turns out that a piece of popcorn isn’t a very effective weapon, but I guess a bowl of it is. I probably still have butter in my hair.”

“James,” Bucky tried again, prodding at James’ ribs. Steve bit his lip to stifle the urge to laugh at the whole thing. 

“That’s a really dumb reason for there to be a mess though, so we came up with a better one.”

“ _James_.” 

Whatever Bucky did beneath the blanket made James yelp. “What?”

Bucky’s lips twitched. “All that talk about ‘we have to come up with a better excuse so Steve doesn’t think we can’t have a five minute conversation without arguing’ and the first thing you do is blurt all that out?”

James scowled, letting his head fall to Bucky’s shoulder. “You woke me up. I forgot.”

Steve didn’t even realize he was staring until he found himself meeting Bucky’s gaze. Bucky was watching Steve, but his fingers were threading through James’ hair, a grounding sort of motion. Bucky didn’t seem to mind that Steve was watching them, only asking, “What are you smiling about?”

Was he smiling? Steve guessed he was. The very circumstances that put the three of them together should have been a disaster by all rights, but it wasn’t. Bucky and James were the loveliest sort of accident, and they drowned out the awful whisper that had been scratching at the back of his mind. 


	9. Chapter 9

It ran counter to every stressful, exhausting thing he’d feared his life might be. Bucky and James shared a carefully honed ability to be absolute menaces, and they were far worse together than either one of them was alone. Steve couldn’t bring himself to mind. He would put up with all their playful bickering and cover stealing and making him sit through horrible science fiction movies if that was the price he had to pay for the way Bucky and James curled up around him at night, all tangled limbs and whispered endearments. He’d nearly given up on the idea of them doing anything more than surviving this, but here they were. Terribly, wonderfully _happy_.

They piled into the elevator, still in their uniforms, worse for wear but still in one piece. Bucky leaned against the wall of the compartment and James followed, hooking an arm around Steve’s waist to drag him along. It was better not to fight these things, Steve was coming to find, so he didn’t complain when his back pressed to James’ chest. He only smiled when metal fingers reached to settle against his stomach. The only sound was their breathing, and the soft whir of the elevator as it climbed one floor after another. 

“Target acquired,” a robotic female voice cut in. 

“Oh _no_ you don’t,” James yanked his new firearm from its holster, just as a bright laser fired from the barrel. “Christ. That’s the third time now. I’m chucking this at Stark’s head next time I see him.”

“I told you it was a bad idea,” Bucky grumbled. “That was almost my foot!” 

“She’s got built in targeting. She could save your life,” James mimicked Tony, lips twitching as he tried to keep a straight face. Steve had meant to stay out of it. Really, he had, only it was hard enough not to laugh when James was poking fun at something, and Bucky’s snickering only made it worse. 

“He didn’t even come see it in action. It’s a shame. He might have been actually useful this mission.” Bucky grumbled good-naturedly, leaning back against Steve. “Or maybe your new toy would have shot him in the foot.”

“But noooooo,” James retorted, mouth rounding out in a broad grin. “He was too busy running tests. Whatever that means.”

Steve’s phone rang. Tony. They’d just left Stark Tower though, and Steve really didn’t relish the idea of going back just then. There’d inevitably be a message if it was really urgent. He held up the phone though, shaking it at James. “You could ask him yourself.”

“No. Then he’ll never shut up.” James waved the phone away. 

By some miracle, they made it out of the elevator and into the apartment in one piece. The malfunctioning weapon was stashed away in a hallway closet, pointed towards an outside wall just in case it got any further ideas about targeting. 

“I think I could go to bed for a week,” James murmured, just about the time he was getting around to unlacing his boots.

“Not like that, you’re not. You’re all dusty,” Steve countered as James pushed one boot off his heel and then the other. 

“How did you even manage that?” Bucky asked, lips twitching in amusement. “Did you roll in the debris when the building collapsed?”

“I was right next to it.” James made a face at Bucky and then turned his attention to Steve. “C’mon. I’m tired. How are you not tired?”

That felt like a trap (albeit the best sort), so Steve shook his head and didn’t answer. “Then go take a shower and go to bed.”

“I could probably use some company…” James prodded playfully. “Not like either of you two are any better.”

“Company is the opposite of how you get cleaned up and off to sleep,” Bucky pointed out, lips twitching in amusement. “Besides, that’d be like the clown car of showers.”

“But…” James made a face and tugged at Steve’s uniform, theatrically petulant. Honestly, between James and Bucky, Steve wasn’t always sure how he was going to manage the rest of the day, let alone the rest of his life. 

It was the best sort of exasperation though, and Steve playfully swatted at James. “ _Go_.”

“Fine. Spoilsport. Don’t complain to me when the water’s cold by the time it’s your turn.” James grinned at the two of them and sauntered off to the bedroom. It left Steve’s mouth a little dry, and the only thing better was the way, out of the corner of his eye, he could see Bucky’s head turn to watch. 

No. The only thing better was the way Bucky’s cheeks flushed slightly when he realized Steve had seen him staring. Bucky shrugged. “He’s incorrigible.”

“That your way of saying you wanna go with him?” Steve teased. They’d sorted this, more or less, but that didn’t stop Bucky from looking just a touch embarrassed about the whole thing when it was brought up. It also didn’t make his responses any less endearing. 

“No. That is the least likely way to actually accomplish taking a shower.” Bucky wiggled his eyebrows rather comically. 

Steve snorted, laying a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Well… you’re not wrong.”

“Granted, I think that was the point. Like I said, he’s-” Bucky’s reply was interrupted by a flash of light that sputtered and crackled, a frail imitation of a lightning bolt cutting across the living room. Even before it gained any sort of momentum, Steve could feel the dread… and the draw. 

“Wait. Can you _see_ that?” Bucky whispered, eyes wide and haunted, but Steve barely heard him. 

Steve reached for it before he even realized what was happening. Only Bucky’s steel plated fingers roughly closing around his wrist stopped the motion. Someone was shouting. It must have been James, stripped down to his boxers and running towards them, but Steve couldn’t take his eyes off what was in front of him. He may as well have been physically drawn in, the drag of it against his mind almost impossible to shake off. 

“I’ll take that as a yes. Jesus Steve, don’t _touch_ it.” The admonition was sharp against the shell of Steve’s ear as Bucky dragged him out of harm’s way. 

In the commotion, neither of them realized the way the chasm rippled, lapping at something. James’ pained wail pulled Steve’s attention back. He looked up to find James cradling his arm, backing away from the the thing and towards them. “What. The _hell_. Is that?” 

Steve’s gaze flicked from James arm - that looked to be terribly bruised - to the light. It parted as if it were a gap in reality itself, full of empty space and strange whispers. Reason said this was bad, but he couldn’t seem to dredge up the fear he was sure he ought to be feeling. 

“Oh, not you too.” Bucky was shaking James, who stared silently into the void. Steve wasn’t sure, but it looked like he was leaning in towards the angry maw of dark and light. Bucky, having none of it, shook James so hard Steve half expected his head to rattle. “Come _on_. Come back to me.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Steve muttered as he managed another step back. There was relief in the distance, like a fog in his mind was receding. Only, there was sorrow in it too.

Bucky was practically dragging James away, towards the couch. Steve couldn’t help but notice how closely James’ expression mirrored his own disconcerting grief. His pretty blue eyes were too bright and damp at the edges, and his breath stuttered once as Bucky sat him down. He didn’t even wince as Bucky carefully felt down the length of his arm for any damage more serious than the bruising.

“Hey, it’s fine. You’re fine,” Bucky soothed, turning to look at Steve. “What doesn’t make sense?”

“This happened three days ago at Tony’s lab. It was the machine.” Steve looked up in time to catch that Bucky had blanched, peering at the open air where the light finally sputtered out. James sagged on the couch, expression pinched in obvious pain, and Steve moved to his side like his feet had finally been freed of the floor. 

“I don’t think it’s the machine, Steve.” Bucky’s mouth twisted in concern. He had taken a seat beside James, still worrying over the bruised arm. 

Steve let out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding as James batted him away. “It’s like you said, I’m _fine_. It’s just bruised. I don’t even know why I touched it.”

Bucky was so rarely ruffled by anything that seeing him alarmed gnawed at the pit of Steve’s belly. He was almost afraid to ask, “How do you know that?”

“I’ve seen in before. That mission with the Hydra base in the basement. I thought… Fuck, I thought I was seeing things.” Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face. 

“That was a month and a half ago.” Steve chewed the inside of his cheek, trying to make sense of it all. “Where did you see it?”

Bucky winced. “Following you. Sorta. It disappeared so fast, I thought it was in my head.”

Following him? Steve turned that over. Three times, someone had seen that thing, and he was the only common denominator. He didn’t know what it meant, but judging by what it had done to James, it didn’t mean anything good. Maybe Tony would have an explanation. If _anyone_ had one, it’d be Tony.

Steve pulled his phone from his pocket. Three more missed calls, all from Tony. His heart thumped heavily in his chest as he dialed. 

“Oh good. You’re alive. It’s about time. I thought I was going to send the cavalry.” Tony said all the right words, all self importance and ego, but his tone was all soft around the edges, like he’d been worried. That wasn’t good at all.

“You don’t have a cavalry,” Steve replied, mostly just to buy a few seconds. He took a breath, terrified of what he was leaping into. “I think there’s a problem.”

“I definitely have a cavalry,” Tony protested. “And we definitely have a problem.”

xxxxxxxxxxx

James knew it had to be bad. Not because Tony had called so many times. Not because Steve mentioned that he’d sounded particularly worried. Because Tony Stark came to _them_ , quickly, and without complaint. 

“I didn’t expect a house call,” Steve greeted, the banter falling flat, as tight as his voice was. 

Tony didn’t even have a clever retort, and worry coiled in James’ gut. “This seemed like it deserved an exception.”

“Does that mean you know what’s going on?” Steve pressed, waving Tony inside and inviting him to sit. 

Tony didn’t sit, though. He paced the room, unknowingly stepping through the place that light had been. “I don’t know that there’s an easy way to say this.”

James’ arm still ached, the bruising gone purple and green. It was just this side of a miracle that nothing was broken. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the vice grip of whatever was inside. Even as it threatened to crush him, he yearned to fall in, and the implication was chilling. Frowning, he piped up. “Then don’t say it the easy way. Just say it however it is.”

Tony made a face as he looked from Steve to Bucky and then James. “Oh, I am way too sober for this.”

“For the part where you explain what’s making thin air split open?” Steve pressed. 

“For the part where I explain that this.” Tony gestured vaguely at the three of them. “Isn’t sustainable.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Tony? We’re doing fine.” Bucky leaned forward, shoulders tensing. 

“Maybe right now, but how do you think that’s going to last with your timeline falling apart?” Tony countered. 

“Falling apart? I mean, I saw the… I don’t know, crack in reality or whatever that was, but it didn’t break anything. You can’t even tell it was ever here,” James pointed out, taking a breath like somehow calm could keep the panic at bay. 

“Except your arm.” Bucky’s mouth pulled down, and he leaned slightly in against James. 

“Your arm? What happened to it?” Tony was already crossing the distance between them, so James held it out. It throbbed something terrible, like he’d crushed it in a vise. 

“I don’t remember touching it, but I must have.” James didn’t even realize the way he folded the arm in against his chest. Tony looked like he was thinking. It wasn’t a look James liked in the slightest. 

He liked it even less when Tony opened his mouth. “How did you get away?”

“I pulled him out. It was like he was just stuck there,” Bucky admitted. Reticent as he normally was, they all knew Tony was the best shot they had at answers. 

Tony frowned, and James’ stomach squirmed. “It didn’t hurt you or Steve?”

“It didn’t hurt me.” Bucky hesitated. His eyes went wide as saucers. Whatever it was that had just dawned on him made his mouth fall open, though no sound came out. 

“Buck?” Steve laid a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, and James watched his other self visibly wilt. 

Bucky didn’t look at Steve. He didn’t look at James. He looked at Tony. “I’m the only one who doesn’t belong, at least a little bit, on the other side.”

“It didn’t hurt me,” Steve protested, brows knit in disbelief. 

“I didn’t let it,” Bucky forced out between slightly clenched teeth. 

Tony’s mouth pressed in a thin line. “After you left the lab, I ran some tests. The residual energy from that thing was through the roof. It repelled everything I tried to touch it with, but apparently it’s just picky.” 

“Okay. Okay, so we just have to figure out how to stop whatever those things are,” James ventured. He wasn’t sure where he was going with that, but if he didn’t say something, the worry was going to swallow him whole. Whatever weapons mishaps, Tony’s were the best hands their fate could be in. 

“About that. See, being a genius and all, I couldn’t really take it at face value and call that science.” At first listen, James would have assumed Tony was just injecting his ego in the conversation, but it didn’t sit quite right. This Tony was so much like his own timeline’s version, and they too good of friends for him to make an assumption. 

“Tony,” Steve warned. For a second, James wondered if Steve hadn’t caught the nuance, or if he was just too worried to let Tony stall.

“I took it upon myself to take some more readings. Maybe you three are flat out blind, or maybe it didn’t look like this, but the universe has been trying to set itself right for a while.” Tony went silent, eyes falling on James’ lap. James had pulled one of Steve’s hands there, but that didn’t seem to be what Tony was noticing. Instead, he cocked his head at James and Bucky, and the way their fingers were laced. “When did you two get so close?”

“Tony,” Steve said more sharply, and under other circumstances, James would have laughed at the universal gesture of surrender that was Tony’s raised hands. 

“No judgment,” Tony promised. “I wouldn’t dare. I might not make it out in one piece. Besides. I don’t mean that kind of _close_. I mean casual contact kind of close.”

“I don’t know. A month and a half? Two?” James chewed his bottom lip and squeezed Bucky’s hand. It had come around so subtly, James wasn’t sure if it had been longer, but he didn’t say. 

“Okay. When did you first see one of these?” Tony looked over at Bucky, who squirmed under the scrutiny. 

“A month and a half ago,” Bucky forced out. He sounded like his throat was half stopped up. “Why?”

“You…” Tony closed his eyes, and James’ stomach bottomed out. It had to be bad if Tony was too busy being sorry to show off his own cleverness. “You two are an impossible thing, my friends. Maybe I’m wrong. It doesn’t happen often, but it _could_. If there were ever a time…”

“Wrong about what?” Bucky pressed, his voice like tired over gravel. 

“This was always going to go badly, judging from what I’m seeing now. I’d bet things were going a little sideways even without the paradox started playing Pac Man.” Tony looked at James and James swallowed. 

“There was a little girl upstairs. She never lived here in this timeline.” James shook his head, shoulders sagging as reality settled in. “I told myself I dreamed it.”

“Other things too,” Steve volunteered, though he didn’t seem inclined to offer what those things were. Tony didn’t press, so maybe the details didn’t matter so much.

“Okay. So far… about what I expected, so here’s what I think. You two.” Tony pointed and James barely resisted the urge to flinch under the imaginary weight of it. “Are like lighter fluid. Reality says you can’t exist in the same place. Then, you gave reality the finger when you got all touchy, and it was just done.”

“We did this?” James would have been ashamed of the grief bleeding into his voice under other circumstances. 

“Nah. There was never anything for it. You were just an accelerant.”

“You said,” Steve snapped, fear coming out in a sharpness James rarely heard from him. “That fixing this was a worse idea than letting it be.”

“Given the information I had at the time, it _was_.” Tony had the decency to look apologetic for that much, at least. “But that was then, before the paradox got a taste for wrong timeline stowaways.”

“It’s here to pull James back,” Bucky said flatly. He leaned subtly closer to James, as if that would somehow protect him. 

“None too gently, by the looks of it.” Tony sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. 

“There’s no stopping those things, is there?” James asked, though he suspected he knew the answer. 

Tony was already shaking his head. “It’s a line of dominoes that’s already tipping. I don’t think it’s going to put the brakes on because we ask nicely.”

“Okay.” Never once had James heard Steve sound so out of his depth as he did just then. Steve was squeezing his hand, as stubborn about this as he was about everything. “So, how do we fix it?”

Tony had the decency to look like he felt as terrible as they did. “That’s the thing, Steve. It _is_ the fix.”

“How long do we have?” Steve’s tongue darted out, skating along his bottom lip. 

“That depends on a lot of not very scientific variables,” Tony hedged, but Steve cut him off.

“Give me a guess, Tony.”

“Could be months. Could be hours. I mean, how long until the next one of these shows up? They were far apart, but it’s only been a few days? What if they get closer? What if Bucky can’t save you because he’s on a mission. Or sleeping. Or brushing his teeth.” Tony huffed, but it sounded more like frustration with their circumstances than with Steve. “How much are you willing to bet on your luck holding out? Plus, we’re assuming these things are the big boss battle, but maybe that’s not all the universe has to throw at you.”

James stared at his mottled, bruised arm, stomach turning at the idea of what would have happened to the rest of him, if not for Bucky. “So, say I let it take me. What happens to Steve?”

Steve scowled, already shaking his head. “I’m not letting it take you, James.”

James didn’t look at Steve. He couldn’t. His heart ached in anticipation. “What. Happens. To. Steve?”

“I don’t know. He’s split between two timelines.” Tony cringed, and James wondered when the last time was he’d had to admit his own ignorance about a situation. 

“There has to be another way. This is insane.” Bucky pressed close to James and Steve both, and James tried not to think about the damage their proximity might still be causing. 

“You can’t stop reality. That’s not science. It’s fantasy.” Tony paced the living room in front of the picture window. “I don’t think it means you have to send your boyfriends through the meat grinder.”

“What are you saying?” Steve’s voice tipped upwards towards the end, and James hated that little flicker of hope. There was no point to it, not now. 

“I’m saying, you could undo the paradox on your own terms. Really, you don’t have to even do anything. Actually, that’s the point. Go back. _Don’t_ do anything. Life goes back to normal.”

That little hopeful uptick immediately vanished. “Normal by whose standards?”

“The universe’s?” Tony shook his head. “This isn’t the answer I wanted to have for you, but it’s the only one we’ve got.”

Steve let go of James to stand up, as if somehow facing down Tony Stark was going to change the fabric of reality. “No.”

“No? What? Torturing yourselves with the inevitable is better?” Tony didn’t back down. He didn’t even bristle, and distantly James wondered if he’d ever seen the man look so sad before. 

“I don’t leave people behind,” Steve insisted, but that truth didn’t change their situation. 

James reached out, resting a hand on Steve’s hip because it was all he could reach. “Steve.”

“No. We find a way save you.” Steve turned to face him, and he looked so determined, James almost could have believed him. Almost. 

James smiled sadly at Steve, breath catching at the way Bucky’s arm slipped around his back. “You’re not saving anyone, Steve. You think there’s a choice? There isn’t a way out for me.”

“James…” Bucky tipped his head to the side, forehead resting against James’ temple.

James couldn’t bring himself to turn his head. They were close like this. If he just… if he didn’t look, maybe he could hang onto it. “You know it too, Bucky. We were an impossible thing.”

Steve’s jaw clenched and unclenched a couple of times. “We have to try.” 

Bucky was nodding in agreement. “I can stay awake. I’ll watch out for them. I can give you _time_.”

Tony huffed out an exasperated breath, but he didn’t say no. “...Okay. You’re tenacious. I’ll give you that.”

“Please.” Steve’s voice had gone soft somewhere along the way. It wasn’t a demand. It was a plea. “If there is anyone out there who can do this…”

“There’s no one out there who can do this,” Tony cautioned. He gave James a desperate look. “I don’t know what’s worse. Giving up too soon or risking that thing turning you into mulch. You’re my favorite. You don’t deserve this.”

There in that moment, with his life on the precipice. James had never felt more _home_. It wasn’t a timeline. It wasn’t a place. It was love and friendship and the lengths people went to to stay together. Sucking in a breath, James smiled a shaky smile. “Maybe not, but I definitely didn’t deserve any of _this_.” 

How impossible a thing must it have been for Tony Stark to bow out? Only, he didn’t bow out. He straightened up, all familiar self confidence and ego. Some terrible spell had been broken, because despite the terrible odds, Tony was smirking. “Definitely not. You have terrible judgment.”

Steve snorted, shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Coming from you.”

“I heard that,” Bucky complained. His expression was still tight around the edges, but some of the hopelessness had vanished. If Tony felt good enough to fall into his usual snarkiness, maybe the scales could tip away from insurmountable and towards improbable. James was good with improbable. 

“You were meant to. There’s no point in a good insult if the intended audience doesn’t hear it.” Tony’s expression sobered, but at least he didn’t look like he’d given up. He focused on Bucky. “There is no accounting for your bad taste, but, if there’s a way to let you keep this, I’m finding it.”

xxxxxxxxxxx

They didn’t make it to the bedroom that night. Steve paced the living room in front of Bucky and James, all of them waiting for reality to come apart again. It held out though, as Steve threatened to wear a hole in the floor. 

“Get some sleep,” Bucky urged, watching Steve make another lap. 

“You’re not. That’s hardly fair,” Steve retorted. His voice was sharp, but it wasn’t irritation. It was simply the stress of the situation. Despite how bleak it all looked, Bucky smiled. 

“Steve. I’ve _got_ this.” Bucky shook his head, leaning into the corner of the couch. James had gravitated there too, curled up with his head in Bucky’s lap. “Get some sleep. You’re no good to me exhausted.”

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, eyes flicking to the middle of the room where the chasm had nearly devoured him and James both. “I’m no good to you rested, either.”

James huffed, injured arm cradled against his chest. The bruising was awful, dark splotches of purple that faded out into sickly yellow and green. Bucky grimaced in sympathy, fingers dragging through James’ short hair as he watched Steve. “You’re plenty of good to me”

“But if I have to watch you pace across the room one more time, I might throw something at you,” James mumbled, tipping his head into the brush of Bucky’s fingers against his scalp. 

“That bad?” Steve asked, freezing as if looming in one place was a significant improvement. Despite their predicament, it was hard not to smile. 

Steve looked utterly miserable, and Bucky did smile eventually. “That bad.”

“Maybe... “ Steve paused, watching Bucky and James. “Wake me in an hour?”

“Of course.” Bucky watched Steve sink into the recliner nearby. He looked exhausted, eyes closing the second he’d collapsed into the cushions. In less than five minutes, Steve’s breathing had evened out, a clear sign he’d dozed off. 

“You’re not going to wake him up, are you?” James asked, turning his head to kiss Bucky’s palm. It was a nice feeling, idly affectionate, as if they had all the time in the world. 

Sleep didn’t smoothe the worry from Steve’s features. His face was still world weary and sad, determination clouded with something else. “No. Of course not.”

James hummed, snuggling into the soft fabric of Bucky’s pajama pants. Keeping watch didn’t have to be uncomfortable. “Good.”

They were quiet after that. James melted into Bucky’s every caress, silent until his shifting pressed unexpectedly against his bruised arm. “Damn, that hurts.”

“You’re lucky it didn’t take your arm off,” Bucky chided. He hadn’t actually seen what he chasm had done, too busy rescuing Steve, but the evidence didn’t suggest anything good. 

“I don’t know…” James smiled, but it was a smile that made Bucky’s chest hurt, the kind that served as a thin veneer over hurt and sorrow. “I think Tony would have been more excited to make me a new arm. We could have been a matching set.”

Bucky groaned. “Absolutely not. We’d have never heard the end of it.”

“It’s Tony.” James sucked in a breath and let it out in a huff. “We never hear the end of it, anyway. You think a metal arm makes a difference? 

“You…” Bucky snorted, scritching at James’ scalp. James sleepily inclined his head, humming contentedly at the attention. “I guess you’re not wrong.”

“Of course I’m not wrong.” James said it like there was some manner of follow up, only the follow up never came. His body sagged against the couch cushions and Bucky was willing to bet James’ eyes were already drooping. 

“Of course,” Bucky agreed, knuckles brushing tenderly against James’ temple. “G’night James.”

“‘M not…” James trailed off, seconds stretching out before he mumbled, “Not sleeping.”

“Definitely not,” Bucky whispered. There was no answer. The room was silent and Bucky stayed awake, watching for the breach that had developed such a taste for the people he loved. 

Xxx

The breach didn’t return in the night. James rolled over, nose nudging against Bucky’s stomach, and Steve curled up in the chair at an angle that _had_ to be uncomfortable, and eventually the sun broke over the horizon. It didn’t release Bucky from his duties, but there was promise in it that Bucky had a harder time feeling in the artificial light of the apartment. 

“I said an hour,” Steve groused, stretching out in the chair. “You let me sleep all night.”

“You needed it,” Bucky replied mildly. Just because he needed to be alert to help his loved ones didn’t mean they needed to be. Steve opened his mouth, but Bucky shook his head. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I…” Steve’s mouth twisted and he sighed through his nose. All at once he gave up. “I probably did.”

Bucky smiled. “No probably about it.”

Midway through the day, the breach still hadn’t returned, and Steve pestered Bucky to close his eyes, just for a minute. Better to rest now, while things were quiet, he said. But all Bucky could think about was the vacant way James had frozen in front of the thing, how he’d had to drag Steve physically out of its grasp. Leaving them defenseless was as far from safety as Safety wasn’t leaving them defenseless against those. 

Tony had been right to worry about one thing, though. The chasm opened again, at the height of the afternoon. And this time, there was a more purposeful air to it than the night before. At least it didn’t appear to have much interest in Bucky for the moment. He put himself between James and the light, brazenly facing down a hole in the universe, only to realize later what an utterly reckless thing it was to have done. He only even gathered that much when _Steve_ , of all people, took it upon himself to say so. 

But It was what had needed to be done. Bucky was adamant about that. If the choice was between their safety and his, Bucky was always going to make the same call. Every time. 

As the chasm collapsed out of existence, a book on the table between it and Steve fell to the floor with a quiet thump. Bucky told himself it was just that the book was too close to the edge. Someone must have bumped it. The alternative was something he couldn’t bring himself to consider just yet. 

“What were you going to do if it hurt you too?” Steve’s sharp tone was practically welcome, pulling Bucky from this new angle to be concerned about. 

It was a silly question though, as far as Bucky was concerned. “Make what we’re doing this for worth it.”

“You can’t justify that kind of sacrifice. Not for me,” James protested. It was utterly at odds with his expression, the calm of it not quite hiding the terror he’d tucked away underneath. Bucky knew what fear looked like on that face, and any sacrifice was worth protecting James from the reason it was lurking there. 

“Don’t be stupid. That’s Steve’s job,” Bucky teased, grasping for some levity. Humor was the only thing he had at his disposal just now. He wouldn’t lie, and he couldn’t pretend to know what might be waiting for them around the corner. Much to his relief, James cracked a smile, however slight. 

“Says the guy who decided “human shield” was a good thing to add to his resume.” Steve’s lips pursed in irritation, but there was some small measure of humor couched in it. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Bucky shot back, looking to James for help. 

“He does have a point, Steve. You’ve done at least four monumentally reckless things in the last month. No. Five. Five reckless - and mostly unnecessary, I might add - things that I don’t even have to stop to try and remember.” James grinned in earnest and something heavy finally eased in Bucky’s chest in response. 

“Those were missions. That was for the greater good,” Steve countered weakly, surrender already creeping into his tone. 

“That’s important to you.” Bucky’s expression softened as he reached out, fingers curling around the nape of Steve’s neck to draw him in. He tilted his head until their lips met in a brief, tender kiss. “You are important to me.”

\----

The days passed, managing to feel both too fast and too slow. Tony, true to his word, was trying. If anyone but Bucky noticed the worried pull of Tony’s features, they never said so. Bucky never commented on it either, because if Tony wasn’t ready to give up, maybe, just maybe, there they had a chance. James and Steve didn’t need to be burdened with the doubt that was starting to chew its way through Bucky’s frayed nerves. They needed whatever hope he could give them, so hope was all he gave. 

The strain of days without sleep crept in, little by little. It was like a sheet at first, a gauzy sort of haze, so light he barely noticed. Each day, it thickened around him, smothering his senses a little bit more than the day before. There were moments, usually right before he resorted to sticking his face in the freezer, where it felt like Bucky was under water, the rest of the world utterly out of reach. 

One thing Bucky was keenly aware of was the way he was slowing down. No one said anything. No one even seemed to notice, but how could they possibly miss the way the world was dragging at him? The fourth time he had to pull Steve out of harm’s way, he almost wasn’t quick enough. It ended up being more of a push, and they landed in a heap on the floor as the gap between his timeline and James’ spun out overhead. Something shattered to their left, a harbinger of something more sinister on the horizon. That vase had been in the middle of the coffee table. The breach - that hadn’t been able to harm anything from this timeline just a few days before - was the only thing to touch it. Even the spike of adrenaline wasn’t enough to hide the way words kept sticking somewhere between his mind and his mouth, but they didn’t say a word. Worse, they kept trusting him.

Despite the fatigue that settled into his bones and dragged at his limbs, Bucky pushed on. Mulishness kept him going when everything else failed. He was the one thing standing between them and their probable demise. And for a little while, that was enough. 

The moment when it stopped being enough snuck up on him as cruelly as everything else. In their insistence on keeping watch with him, James and Steve had camped out on the couch to watch a movie. Curled up in the chair, Bucky didn’t even realize he’d dozed off until he was woken by the awful commotion of the escalation he’d feared. There was a rumble as the world shook around them, cracking a long, deep line in the plaster wall behind the television. The picture window shattered in a thousand pieces, scattered across the floor, but Bucky never got the chance to think much about that. 

Bucky leapt to his feet from the chair he’d been sitting in, but the space over the couch was already giving way. Light and energy sparked viciously in air, egged on by the wind through the broken window. The edges of the abyss pulled into sharper focus, aiming to devour James and Steve. 

He must have shouted something. He must have done something, but it all bled together in a groggy sort of panic. Steve was easier to urge out of harm’s way, his own internal conflict seeking an escape that let him cave to Bucky’s efforts. Even as he herded Steve out from under the breach, Bucky could see the sickly, shadowed tendrils sprawling from it, grasping where Steve’s skull had been. That was new. New and probably bad. 

With Steve at a safe - if still disoriented - distance away, Bucky turned to find his fears brought to fruition. Without Steve close enough to go after, the power pent up in the breach turned entirely on James. Ethereal tendrils tethered James where he sat, seeking purchase, perhaps to draw him in. They sank through his skin, into his chest and skull, and he didn’t struggle, but he screamed. 

Heedless of his own safety, Bucky leapt to pull James out of harm’s way. He grasped at the tendrils, trying to yank them free, but they were thin air in his hands, like trying to grip a ray of light. Anchoring his metal hand around James’ shoulder, Bucky yanked as hard as he could, but the tendrils of nothing that Bucky couldn’t even touch had James pinned. He wailed in agony, expression vacant all the while. 

There was no time to think or to hesitate. The breach was pulling James in, a fraction at a time, its tendrils like anchors that started to lift him from the couch towards its gaping nothingness. It couldn’t end like this. Whatever else happened, it couldn’t end like this. In desperation, Bucky took advantage of the way the tendrils were ghosts to him, making a barrier of himself. 

For a second, his ploy seemed to work. Bucky blocked the way and they snuffed out entirely for a second. It was just long enough for James to sag back on the couch, seemingly unaware of Bucky’s presence. His breathing was quick, and though there were no obvious wounds left behind, James face was tight with pain. 

“Come on, James. You gotta get up,” Bucky urged, trying to stand and get them out of harm’s way. Even the fraction of a second that took was too long. The breach’s tendrils had rallied and as they found their way to him, all Bucky could think of was that shattered vase. Nothing, it seemed, was safe. 

He’d seen tendrils, but it didn’t feel like they were piercing through him at all. It was more like a glacier had dropped abruptly against his back, pinning him down and freezing its way through him. Bucky trembled, but he didn’t move, not even as the shadows crept into his periphery. 

_Let go. Let go._ The breach whispered, strangely close, as if the words were in his own mind. The cold leaked through Bucky’s skin, and into his veins, as if someone had trapped him in a cryogenic tube, the process running in slow motion. Ice filled his chest. It leaked out into his arms until they were lead, but still, Bucky held on. 

James’ eyes fluttered and closed, the shadows cradling his temples. And Bucky’s attempt to bat them away with his one working limb proved useless. His metal hand slipped right through them as if they were no more than fog. Unable to rely on physical strength, Bucky let his head drop, forcing words out of his half frozen throat. “Come back to me. _Please_ come back to me.”

There was a sense of wrongness as the weight of the breach pressed down, an innate corruption that twisted like a knife in his back. It tore at his limbs, trying to bend him out of shape, and Bucky clenched his jaw against the pain. 

It took every ounce of strength he had left to move. He couldn’t pull James away any more than he could escape himself, but maybe he didn’t have to. Instead of reaching for James, Bucky focused all his efforts on making his right arm move enough to brace both his hands on the back of the couch. Fighting through the pain, Bucky threw his weight forward. 

The couch barely wobbled, the breach’s strength easily a match for the Winter Soldier. Desperate, and determined, Bucky tried again, and again, and again. They couldn’t go out like this.

All at once, the couch gave. It tipped onto its back, taking James and Bucky with it. They landed in a heap, sprawled oddly against the back of the couch, Bucky’s body a heavy weight against James. James was gasping in pain, looking at nothing, but the breach’s hold on both of them had snapped and Bucky meant to keep it that way. 

Perhaps the chasm was as spent as Bucky. It flickered around the edges and then its entirety, even as it wound towards them like a viper. The shadows that reached for them were frail, ghostly things, and Bucky wasn’t about to let them find James. He tucked himself closer, shielding James as best he could, not daring to look back. 

“Buck?” Steve breathed out a few moments later, a sure sign that the breach had collapsed again. Bucky barely had a chance to turn his head before Steve was kneeling at his side, checking them both over. James was unconscious, but breathing. He was breathing, and under the circumstances, that was worth celebrating. 

Carefully, Bucky moved out from where he was huddled over James. No sooner had he cleared James’ prone body than he collapsed on the carpet, still trying to shake the chill from his skin. He sucked in a breath, a sense of wrong still clinging to him, but there was no time to dwell on it. He settled on the floor just in time to hear James whimper, pain slurring his words. “What _happened_?”


	10. Chapter 10

James wasn’t even sure how they got to the bedroom. One minute they were in the living room, with a cold wind sweeping through the busted window. Bucky looked a little blue, and Steve suggested they move, so James staggered to his feet. Dizzy and wondering if the breach had cracked his ribs, James swayed into Steve’s embrace, and the world went a little fuzzy. By the time it cleared, they were on the bed. 

To say that breathing hurt was a massive understatement. It was as if something hard and heavy had been dropped on his chest. Repeatedly. He hadn’t died - not this time- but the terror of the moment stuck with him. Even if he’d somehow forgotten his own damage, the room was a wreck. _Bucky_ was a wreck. It was hard to have any confidence in the parameters when the parameters kept changing. 

“It’s never touched anything else before,” James groaned, though no one seemed to be paying much attention to him beyond what it had done to _him_. Bucky didn’t say a word about how much pain he was in, though he kept clenching his jaw in obvious pain. What if they had been in public? What if there had been other _people_?

Steve had scooted back to sit against the headboard, gently pulling James along. He was too exhausted to bother with complaining that he didn’t need coddling. He couldn’t even spare the energy to figure out how to soothe the concern that pulled at Bucky’s features. Not at first, anyway. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Bucky was whispering. His touch was heartbreakingly delicate, like he thought James was made of porcelain, like he was some infectious thing and not James’ partner. How terrible was it that Bucky thought the damage he’d endured to save James’ life somehow merited an apology? That bolstered James when nothing else would. He reached out, curling his fingers around Bucky’s disconcertingly cool skin. 

“No one’s blaming you,” Steve insisted. One of his arms curled protectively around James’ stomach. With the other, he reached out, laying his palm over Bucky’s and James’ hands. “We’re alive because of what you did.”

“I was supposed to be watching.” Bucky muttered despairingly, his shoulders sagging along with his spine. He bowed his head as if his own exhaustion was somehow a mark of personal shame. 

“It _wasn’t_ your fault,” James countered, sucking in a shallow breath because anything more just hurt. “Given how things went, I think I get a monopoly on divvying out blame.”

He had to stop after that, wincing at the pressure on his chest. He was fine. He’d probably be fine. James wasn’t sure he’d get a chance to find out if that mattered. Drawing in another breath was agonizing, and of course it didn’t help. He tried to hide it, but Bucky’s lips pressed together in grief anyway. 

“My _point_ is,” James muttered, squeezing Bucky’s hand. “I don’t blame you. You don’t get to either.”

Bucky’s mouth twisted unhappily off to the side. “I dozed off.”

“So… you’re human?” James pressed. Beneath Bucky’s grief and worry, the fatigue was so obvious. His eyes were wide like he was forcing them open, and Bucky’s metal arm was doing more to hold him up than the rest of his body. James had seen him stretched thin, but this Bucky was a hairsbreadth from breaking. They’d be lucky if they managed another night. “I’ve seen you do things I thought were impossible, Bucky, but even you have limits. The rules are changing here. You’re not much safer than we are now.”

“Maybe Tony could devise some way to alert us. You’d be able to get some sleep and we could warn you before anyone is in danger,” Steve suggested. James could feel him shift until he was shoulder to shoulder with Bucky, the gesture pulling James along. It hurt a bit, but he didn’t complain. 

“Time Tony spends trying to do that is time he’s not working on a solution for you two,” Bucky growled, already digging in his heels on the idea. “He was miles away from an answer this morning. I’m not giving him another problem to juggle.”

James froze in Steve’s embrace as he thought that over. Really thought it over. They were holding on, but only just barely. If he allowed himself even a moment of honesty, he didn’t think there was much of a chance for them. Bucky was utterly exhausted, and staying awake was no longer enough to ensure he could keep them out of harm’s way. Steve was wrung out. It reminded him, hauntingly, of those moments before Azzano where he’d had to choose for his men and himself, death or defeat. Steve came later, but not for all of them, and in the moment, there was no option C. Here in this room, the three of them kept trudging on, pretending they weren’t right on the edge of inevitability. Maybe there was no option C on the horizon now either. 

How much longer could they keep this up? A day? A week? How much collateral damage was acceptable while they looked for a solution that would probably never come? There was no pay off. If they kept gambling on Bucky’s sheer refusal to accept his own limits, even if by some miracle no one else died, eventually they were going to lose. The way Bucky had responded to this small slip, James absolutely could not, would not, let him carry the burden of the inescapable fallout waiting for them alone. 

Maybe it was a different kind of fear that made up his mind for him then. After what had happened to Bucky tonight, how long before the breach could really hurt him? How much longer did they have before protecting them might cost Bucky his life?

“There _is_ a solution for us.” James’ voice was small but firm. 

Steve’s fingers curled in the fabric of James’ shirt, an instinctive protest. “That is not a solution.”

Bucky’s hand twisted in James’ grip so that he could hold it properly. It was a warm, tender touch, the kind James could have lived in forever. “That’s not the answer, James. I’ve _got_ this.”

“You don’t have this, though. The rules _changed_. If Tony is saying it can’t be done, at _some_ point we’re going to have to believe him.” James swallowed thickly and tried not to notice the way Steve’s jaw clenched, chin moving slightly against the top of his head. Bucky’s lips parted in horror James didn’t dare acknowledge either. “It’s gonna end. One way or another. I’d rather make a call while I still get some say in how it happens.”

“You’re not disappearing if I can help it,” Steve shot back, and James smiled at the sheer stubbornness that was true about Steve in every timeline. It wasn’t a smile at all, really. It was a small, sad uptick of one corner of his mouth. 

“I know. Christ, I _know_.” Carefully, James extricated his hand from Bucky’s. He breathed through the pain in his chest and turned around. Kneeling between his legs, James brought himself eye to eye with Steve. It would have been so easy to give in right there, to kiss him and kiss him and hope for the best until there was nothing left to hope about. Nothing had changed in the last few minutes though, and he’d made this call for a reason. Allowing only a brief kiss, James pulled back, cradling Steve’s jaw. “But you can’t help this.”

“No…” Steve conceded. “I can’t, but Bucky isn’t the only one capable of helping. Maybe we ask Nat or Sam or…”

“ _Stop_. Don’t you see? Those are all stopgap measures. They’d want to help. I know they would, but to what end? If that thing can hurt Bucky, it can hurt them. No one else gets to be in harm’s way for me.” James’ voice broke as he tried to get through to Steve. 

“It’s manageable,” Steve ground out. “It has to be.”

“For how long?” James hated being at odds with Steve, but keeping on was worse. 

“It’s escalating. It’s not occasional. It’s all the time,” Bucky conceded very quietly. James looked over to see him suck in a breath and let it out in a grieving sort of shudder. The breach had taken so much out of him. James didn’t have to ask to know Bucky was likely thinking the same thing he was. 

“I don’t want this. _No_ _one_ wants this.” James’ chest throbbed, and despite the ache, he was so relieved it was him and not someone else. “But you can’t always choose me over the rest of the world.”

“Bucky?” Steve turned to look at James’ other self, pleading for Bucky to be the voice of reason. Bucky wasn’t the voice of anything. His jaw worked, and he watched them, but nothing came. James was sort of sorry for the way Steve pressed him. “You can’t be alright with this.”

“Of course I’m not,” Bucky finally responded. His voice was soft, but heavy with meaning. Even before Bucky finished, the answer was clear. Bucky would be in James’ corner. He was always in James corner, even if it killed him. After all. Bucky knew a thing or two about agency. “I don’t have to be alright with it. It’s not my choice to make.”

The sound Steve made cut right through James, an anguished, almost sob. “What, so that’s it? You’re giving up?”

“It’s not giving up. I’m being realistic.” James leaned in, resting his forehead against Steve’s. All the while, he reached to pull Bucky closer. Time was ticking towards an inevitable end, and he meant to hang on to every moment he could. “This isn’t a problem you can reason your way out of. It’s not something you can punch into submission. It’s not Hitler. It’s not Hydra. This is _reality_.”

A verbal response would have been asking for too much. There was nothing so blatant as acceptance, not for a thing like this. James only knew he’d reached Steve when he got a single terse nod for his efforts. 

“I’m not going to ask you to change your mind or… or not to go.” Bucky scooted closer, bringing James’ knuckles to his lips. It was an absent, affectionate gesture. 

“I know you’re not,” James replied, pleased and sorrowful to realize it was true. They understood each other. Whatever ways they’d changed, there was a bone deep familiarity. “But you’re going to ask me something.”

“Yeah.” Bucky’s jaw worked, and he cradled James’ hand so carefully in his. “...Just don’t go tonight?”

Bucky lingered, mouth brushing over the tops of James’ fingers. It would have been sweet - and it was, really - but all James could see was exhaustion and grief. There were dark smudges under Bucky’s eyes, and everything about him drooped. The lingering coolness of his touch crawled down James’ spine. In some ways, wasn’t it the kinder thing to just end this before he made things any worse for the people he loved? It was certainly the better choice for the city full of civilians with no idea what danger they might be in.

In that sense, it was more a selfish need than anything that made him agree. “Not tonight.” 

Worse than the conclusion they’d come to was the silence that followed. None of them knew how to extricate themselves from the mire of dread and sorrow. They froze with it, the scant distance between them such an unhappy thing. 

“James.” It was only a whisper, but James could have kissed Bucky then, just for breaking the silence. “What do you need?”

They were right there at the edge of something, and for one awful second, James wondered what his silence would mean. He reached out though, pulling Bucky close enough to kiss. “You. Both of you.”

Moving _hurt_ , but somehow they managed. Steve shuffled away from the headboard enough to lay down. Bucky’s hands were warm and cool on James’ flanks, carefully steering him to the middle of the bed. Before Bucky could pull back too far, James tugged him close. If this was the last night they got together, James meant to make the most of it.

Steve leaned in, careful of James’ injuries, as he lsought out a kiss. It was a soft, gentle,press of Steve’s plush lips against his. Despite everything, it pulled a smile from James. “I’m not gonna break just because you kiss me properly.”

“There’s nothing improper about being nice,” Steve murmured back. He reached up, cradling James’ face in his hands, hiding his grief beneath the affection. 

There was a kiss and then another, and James smiled into it as Bucky carefully pressed against his back. The cool press of his chest to James’ back wasn’t so disconcerting, and the way Bucky nuzzled against the nape of his neck stoked a familiar sort of fondness. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky mumbled against James’ skin. One of his arms was tucked under the pillows, the other curling protectively around James’ flank. 

“No. No more of that. You don’t get to be sorry tonight,” James insisted, gritting his teeth against the ache as he turned over to face Bucky. He tucked into the comforting warmth of Steve’s body around him and pulled Bucky in. 

“Not much time to get to be sorry, other than tonight,” Bucky replied, tipping his head forward until they were nose to nose. 

“Yeah. That’s the point.” James curled his fingers under Bucky’s chin, drawing him in for a kiss. Even his mouth was still a little cold, like he’d been sucking on ice cubes. James nudged Bucky’s lips apart and licked into it, trying to memorize what this felt like while he still could. 

Steve’s breath hiccuped sightly at James’ back, a soft, wordless admission of defeat. Even knowing what was coming, James could feel the way Steve pressed closer, a welcome comfort if there was any comfort to be had. Steve’s knees tucked in behind James’ and his fingers drifted. They mapped out the jut of a hip, the smooth plane of James’ side.

Bucky shut his eyes when James pulled him closer, keeping his distance until he couldn’t. Abruptly, Bucky tilted his head forward, and though his skin was still cool to the touch, the dampness he left against the crook of James’ neck was not. He didn’t say a word, but it was startlingly clear in the way he shuddered into James’ embrace.

It was grief and regret wrapped up in affection, but it was all they had. James took note of every detail. If this was the last night James was going to get with them, then this was precisely how he wanted to spend it. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

For a long time afterwards, they were silent. Bucky didn’t trust himself to speak, and he didn’t suspect any one else felt any better. Comfort and contact was the best way he could think to articulate all the things he didn’t have words for. 

He pulled back a little, just enough to see Steve’s face beyond James. Despite his own grief, Bucky ached in sympathy. Steve was the lynch pin in all of this, and heaven knew he couldn’t possibly have wanted that responsibility. More than that, it was likely that one version of him was headed towards its possible demise. 

“What happens to you, do you think?” Bucky asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper. He was finally warm again, but the cold that had shocked his system lingered on in memory. Bucky didn’t want that for Steve. 

“I guess I’ll go home… and I’ll stay here,” Steve murmured back, reaching to brush Bucky’s hair from his face. For the first time it sank in that on some level, they were saying goodbye too. 

Bucky nodded, turning his head to nuzzle against Steve’s palm. “Are you afraid?”

“Not for me.” Steve thumbed at Bucky’s temple, and smiled faintly through the sorrow when James rolled onto his back between the two of them. “Either way, I won’t be alone.”

James’ focus shifted entirely on Steve. Bucky didn’t dare make a sound when there was finally a moment of peace. He watched where he lay beside James as his other self reached out, knuckles dragging along Steve’s jaw with a tenderness Bucky rarely saw. Bucky closed his eyes after that, not out of jealousy so much as sorrow. He didn’t think he wanted James to go any more than Steve did. This was home, the three of them, and Bucky didn’t relish the idea of an empty space where someone belonged. 

For a little while, they’d been so happy. Bucky sighed, curling in until he could nuzzle James’ temple and rest his hand on Steve’s. “It was all worth it, right? We would have been good.”

“Of course it was, of course we would have. Another fifty years and we’d be out on our front porch shouting at kids to get off our lawn.” Bucky looked up just in time to catch an amiable smile twitch on James’s lips. “Well, I’d be shouting, because Steve’s too damned nice for his own good and you’re boring.”

“There’s nothing wrong with nice,” Steve muttered. In happier times, it probably would have been petulant, but in the moment, any change from the sad, somber expression he was wearing was a good one. 

“I’m not boring,” Bucky protested, biting the inside of his cheek in an effort not to laugh. “You just perpetually forget we’re not twelve anymore.”

“Bucky. Your idea of a pleasant afternoon was the _Cloisters_. Shit, that is what it was called, right? It’s like a library with plants. I half expected monks to come out of the walls and glare at me every time I spoke above a whisper.” James pressed his knuckles against his mouth in an effort to be quiet, and in the moment, Bucky just _loved_ him. Honestly, genuinely loved him. It was hard to be the subject of that mirth and playful teasing and not feel just a little bit lighter. 

“It was relaxing, which was the point. It’s not my fault you never shut up,” Bucky teased back, squeezing James’s shoulder beneath the blankets. 

“I shut up,” James shot back. 

Steve chuckled, a quiet, limping thing. It was a laugh all the same as he carefully squeezed his arms around James. “Only occasionally.”

“Well, then my absence should be good for your ability to get a full night’s sleep.” It was a joke like any other, but there was no hiding the flicker of distress in James’s features. Bucky knew that look as surely as he would have if James’s furrowed brow and faintly pursed lips had been his own. It had been a common occurrence during the war, listening to bombs fall outside and being quite certain he wouldn’t be waking up the next morning. 

“That’s not funny,” Steve muttered, tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

“Nothing’s funny when you’re not getting enough sleep, you grouch.” James grinned like the world wasn’t falling apart all around him.

“I’m sorry.” Steve’s voice broke on the words. Bucky couldn’t even be sure what they were for, but they weren’t for him, and James didn’t ask. 

“Nuh uh. No apologies tonight. It’s the rules,” James insisted. Funny, Bucky had focused so much on their differences in the beginning. He could have said all the things about James that made him want to smother the man with a pillow, but he’d never given much thought to the differences like this. Facing down the possibility of death or worse, there James was, lifting them up. 

Steve was quiet, and Bucky wondered if maybe he hadn’t even gotten past what to say after ‘sorry’. After a moment, he shook his head and kissed James’ shoulder. “I love you.”

Bucky tucked the blankets in around them a little better. “I love you, too. Both of you.”

“Good.” James promptly shoved the top of the blanket aside to cup Bucky’s face. Bucky just caught the way it made James wince. It didn’t, however, stop James from pulling him in for a kiss. “For once, we’re all in agreement.”

There was quiet after that, but it wasn’t such a sad thing. They were comfortably close, wrapped up in each other, trading affection while they still could. The night stretched out, and one last time, Bucky kept watch.

\---

If only that once, the universe took pity on them. Nothing came in the night. All that pity did nothing to ease the dread that came with the dawn, however. 

Steve had dozed off at some point, and Bucky wasn’t sure if that was a mercy or a torment. He started to reach over to wake Steve, but James’ fingers curled around his wrist. 

“He’s going to need you.” James’ whisper broke the silence. And his expression was so earnest, despite what was coming. Guilt twisted in Bucky’s belly as he waffled over what he was meant to say to that. 

“Because he won’t have you?” Bucky wished he could drum up even an iota of the bitterness he’d held onto for James in the beginning. There was no anger in his acceptance of his own limitations. Barrelling towards something so final as the end, Bucky could only marvel at how calmly James was taking all this. “I can’t be you. That’s all gone, now. It has been a long while.”

“You really don’t get it, do you? Is being thick a general character flaw for us, or did you get hit in the head one two many times?” Anyone else wouldn’t have dared make a joke like that, certainly not in the utterly unflinching way James did. Everyone else (except maybe Tony) treated Bucky with kid gloves where anything remotely sensitive was concerned, but James just kept right on. He was going to miss that. He was going to miss a lot of things. 

“Get what?” Bucky’s brows furrowed in confusion. He wasn’t blind. He had been painfully familiar with the happy, intimate moments James shared with Steve. Now, he cherished their existence. They were so good together, and he was terribly lucky to be a part of it. 

“I thought the guy I woke up with a couple years ago in the ice was the only one in there.” James’s amused expression abruptly faded, and though he didn’t quite look maudlin, impending loss pulled at his mouth in a way that twisted in Bucky’s chest. “It’s not, though. There are things he needs I don’t know how to be, either. Sometimes, he’s a complete mystery to me. I couldn’t figure out how to make him feel better when he looked like the weight of everything was crushing him.”

Bucky frowned, not quite understanding how that tied to him. “I couldn’t either.”

“That’s just it. You didn’t _have_ to.” Soft as it was, the pitch of James’s voice had risen a little. He went quiet for a second, clenching his jaw and taking one shuddery breath through his nose before he continued. “You just carried it with him. Maybe you didn’t see how much that mattered, but it’s pretty clear from where I’m standing.”

What a pair they made, neither quite seeming to grasp their own value. Bucky swallowed and went still as Steve shifted under the blankets behind James. Even in slumber, he was a warm, solid presence, reminding Bucky of the intimacy of the moment.

“I…” Bucky floundered. Nothing he could say would stop the inevitable. “Maybe we could…”

“Don’t. Jesus, Bucky, _don’t_. We went through this song and dance. Nothing good’s gonna come from trying to change things now,” James’s voice was an insistent whisper Bucky couldn’t have ignored if he wanted to. Bucky had started to pull his hand away, but James caught his wrist, keeping him close. “I got to be me for a little while, but I was always supposed to be you, you idiot.”

“If that was true, this couldn’t have happened,” Bucky insisted. They were only just figuring this out, and in a universe that had spent an awful lot of time and energy shitting on the occupants of that bed, this probably took the cake. 

“I. Was. An. _Accident_. You and I both know that. When you make a mess, you clean it up, and this is part of that.” It was a strange, heartbreaking thing to be talking about the end when he could still feel the heat of James’ skin.

“I’m not saying don’t do it. I’d never take that choice from you. But what am I supposed to do?” Bucky swallowed, aching for those precious few moments where they had just been practically family and _happy_ , without the slightest idea of what was coming.

“I expect you to stop arguing about what neither of us can change and promise me you’re going to take care of him. He loves you. He _needs_ you.” James hunkered down a little, as if seeing Steve all the way would somehow put things in perspective. “You need him too.”

“You don’t get to say that. You don’t know me,” Bucky muttered, but it was only the grief talking. They were better together, just enough of each other to be happy. 

James smiled. Despite the way each passing second closed the distance between existence and demise, James smiled. He leaned close, lips brushing against the corner of Bucky’s mouth. “Bucky, of course I know you. I _am_ you.”

“James…” Bucky started, but James was already shaking his head. Bucky felt James’ fingers slide through his hair, and he let out a choked breath, struggling for composure. Reality being what it was didn’t make this fair. 

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. However long, it wasn’t long enough. Morning came in earnest, sweeping away the night and their reprieve along with it. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

James was already getting dressed when they felt the first tremor around them. Bucky was quicker this time, or maybe the breach was a finite force, still spent from the night before. Either way, it claimed no one before it sputtered out in the hallway of their apartment. 

After the night before, James expected any moment could be the last. He was relieved when they made it down the elevator without incident, and even more so that the three of them had made it to Stark Tower in once piece. However much James had needed the night before, he wasn’t sure if he’d have forgiven himself if it had cost a civilian life in the process. 

The walk to the lab might as well have been to the gallows. It all worked out the same, didn’t it? He’d been nothing before Steve conjured him up. Whatever the last seventy years seemed like, James suspected he’d be nothing again. It was a fear he didn’t dare spill, even as the walls closed in on him.

Tony stayed only long enough to bid James farewell. His face scrunched up in obvious discomfort, and he might never have managed at all if James hadn’t done the work for him. James leaned in, embracing Tony. For a second, Tony froze, but the hesitation bled out in a firm embrace. 

“You take care of yourself. Don’t miss me too much,” Tony insisted. 

“Believe me,” James retorted, a smile curling on his lips. “You won’t give me the chance.”

The world narrowed after that, down to the three of them. Goodbye had never felt so real as it did in the moment, and James didn’t want to go. There was nothing for it though, and seeing how utterly lost Bucky looked prompted James to reached out.

“Look, when we got to be… whatever this was…” James fumbled, searching for words that wouldn’t come. There was so much he needed to say, and there just wasn’t any _time_.

“Is.” Bucky’s mouth pulled down in poorly masked grief, and James wished, more than anything, that he could stay long enough to smooth it away. Light flickered in the air around them, an agonizing reminder of why he couldn’t. 

“Yeah… is.” James forced a smile, something nestling warmly in his chest at Bucky’s word choice, like this was just a hiccup and not goodbye. “Either way, I learned something. I give you a pass on all sorts of things I always thought were… were unforgivable about myself. I’d bet you do it, too.”

Bucky flinched, and when he responded, his voice was high and strained in a way that betrayed more than James would have bet he’d intended. “What’s that matter now?”

James sucked in a breath. This one thing, he had to get right, because Steve and Bucky deserved the whole damned world if they wanted it, but this was all he had left to give. In a few minutes, he’d be out of reach forever, and if he couldn’t change that, he meant to leave one good thing behind. He’d seen for himself the way Bucky had changed, the way the stranglehold his demons had had on him loosened as James got to know him. It broke his heart to think of Bucky sinking back into the depths again. “What matters is why. Because I always used to think I was the sum of my faults, but here you are and I love you, and it turns out I was wrong the whole time.”

“You didn’t always. Maybe you shouldn’t have.” Bucky replied, his tone flat and tired. 

“No, _stop_. I was afraid of you, and I was _wrong_. You’re better than either of us give you credit for, so just… just hang on to that, would you?” The scant distance between them was too much, so James closed it, curling his arms around Bucky to draw him close. Bucky wilted against him, mismatched arms coiling around his back. 

“I…” Bucky started, voice thick and wavering, and James’ heart shattered. He moved on instinct, silencing Bucky’s heartache with a tender press of his lips. It was more desperate than practiced, but James memorized the shape of Bucky’s mouth against his, and the tremble down his spine under James’ fingertips. 

Off to their left, the world cracked open, and James reluctantly withdrew. He didn’t trust his voice, but he tilted his head, nuzzling against the space beneath Bucky’s ear to whisper, “You’re not what you think you are. I just need you to remember that when I’m not here to remind you.”

Bucky shifted his grip, metal hand curling in the back of James’ shirt. James felt the fingers of Bucky’s other hand thread through his hair, settling at the back of his skull. There were lips brushing against James’ temple, and the list of things he wouldn’t give to stay here for just a little longer grew shorter by the second. 

“If you know that,” Bucky murmured, the words cracking faintly. “Then you know the rest.”

James smiled, in spite of everything, borrowing against time he didn’t have to breathe Bucky in, trying to commit that to memory too. If he lived through this - _if_ being immensely shaky - he’d have Steve in a manner of speaking, but there was no getting any of this back. “Tell me anyway.”

“Christ, you’re a menace,” Bucky complained. James could feel Bucky shaking his head, could feel the smile that curved against the patch of skin where Bucky’s mouth was touching him. “Exactly like you oughta be, so…”

Something howled behind them, like wind through a cavern, and Bucky unwound his hold on James abruptly. It was a terrible loss, and James made a miserable sound he was too grief stricken to be ashamed of. His breath hitched as mismatched hands cradled his shoulders, turning him away towards Steve. Bucky was still close against his back though, just for a moment. “Just be good to yourself, alright?”

James didn’t answer, mostly because he couldn’t. Steve’s expression was a punch to the gut. Whatever Steve wanted, whatever call Steve would have made on his own, they had to do this. That didn’t mean James wouldn’t have ripped his own heart out if it could wipe that look off Steve’s face. 

“Steve…” James started, and again, there just wasn’t time. They’d had a life, the three of them, and even though it had never been the plan, it was what he wanted. The universe didn’t care what he wanted though, and no matter how it gutted him to see Steve like this, his life wasn’t worth the wellbeing of the world. Steve’s happiness… couldn’t be either. They didn’t have the luxury of prioritizing each other like that. 

“Please don’t ask me to do this.” Funny, James had always looked at Steve and seen everything that was right and good and noble, even when those things meant tough choices. It was just that those tough choices were never him. If Steve had to weigh the fate of James Buchanan Barnes against the world, he’d cheat the scales every time. 

It took every ounce of self control not to give in. Steve and Bucky didn’t want him to go, and James certainly didn’t welcome the probability of being snuffed out of existence. Taking a breath, James picked up the sensors for the machine, holding them out to Steve. “I’m not asking.”

Steve still hesitated, staring at the sensors in the palm of his hand. “I can’t do this. I love you.”

“Can’t isn’t a choice we get to make, Steve.” James swallowed, plucking the sensors from Steve’s hand like they might bite him. Gingerly, he pressed one and then the other to to Steve’s temple. No sooner had he gotten them placed than Steve wound around him, like the vice grip of his arms around James’ waist could stave off the inevitable. 

“You don’t deserve this,” Steve protested, and James squirmed to put a finger over his mouth before he could say anything else. It was too close to the fear that gnawed at him, that this really might be the end of the line, and that in a few moments, he’d be no more than an echo. He couldn’t hear it. Not from Steve. 

“Doesn’t matter. Those people out there don’t deserve this either,” he pivoted, trying to steer Steve away from words that might crumble his already failing resolve. 

“James…” Steve cradled James’ face, palms engulfing his cheeks, and fingers brushing tenderly against his scalp. 

James leaned in, nudging his forehead against Steve’s. “I hate that name.”

Steve huffed out a weak, mournful laugh. “I know, Bucky. I know.”

“I love you.” It was all James got out before Steve’s mouth brushed against his, the gesture laced with all the things they might never get the chance to say. James clung, even though he knew he shouldn’t eyes squeezing tightly shut against the dampness collecting in the corners of them. A sob wrenched between them, shuddering in Steve’s chest against him. There was another, and then a third, and all James wanted was to kiss Steve until the hurting stopped. James’ voice was uneven, even as he insisted. “You can do this. I promise you can.”

James couldn’t do this. He couldn’t, but he _had_ to, and so he let go with one hand, blindly turning on the machine. He braced himself, waiting for the breath that might be his last. There were precious few seconds left, so James lifted his head, pressing a kiss to Steve’s forehead, and whispering the prettiest lie he could think of. “I’ll see you soon.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Steve closed his eyes on James and Bucky and all the confirmation that they'd reached the end. The view behind his eyelids wasn't the train car or Hydra soldiers. It was just dark. Urgently, he opened them, eyes wet and unseeing, and tried again. Only, the dark nothingness that always met him here, blocking out the world and often lulling him to sleep refused to budge. 

He'd done this before. He'd done this before. He'd done this before. The truth of it was biting as he racked his brain to recall how he'd shifted his focus from Tony's lab to the train the first time around. 

Focus. Steve took a breath. He took another, sinking into what details he could recall. His boots had fallen, hushed against the floor of the train, rubber thudding almost silently against steel as he moved from car to car. The wind whistled, a high pitched wail through the mountains. It cradled the train, like it knew the impending sorrow as well as Steve. 

Steve opened his eyes, finding his agency dissipating as the memory slid into place. He tried to blink and couldn't, and maybe the breath he took was only in his mind. 

Steve's body turned and Steve with it, facing Bucky. James. It didn't matter. In this place, they were still one and the same, weren't they? Bucky had Steve's back the way he always had, and Steve couldn't say a word about the looming agony. 

You can't _change_ anything. Knowing the consequences didn't erase the urge to try, but Steve swallowed it down. He didn't rail against the loss, but he was drowning in it, grasping for a handhold that never came. 

All too soon, his head was turning away again, and his body was moving, one foot in front of the other. His heart should have been thumping painfully in his chest, but it wasn’t his heart at all. It was some past self, immersed in the mission, with no idea what was coming. Steve couldn’t let himself fight to change anything, but he still wanted to scream. 

One step. Two Steps. Steve cleared the doorway, and though he knew to expect the crash of a barrier sliding into place, his past self jumped at the sound. 

His feet moved under the direction of someone who was and wasn’t him, like some strange simulation carrying him relentlessly towards heartbreak. He saw through eyes that were and weren’t his own, windows through which he could take in the memory of running to the door that separated him from Bucky. For just a second, Bucky’s eyes met his through the glass, and Steve wanted so desperately to warn him of what was coming. There was nothing to do now, the reality of things leaving Steve helpless but to go through the motions. 

On the other side, Steve could hear the rapid fire of Bucky’s gun. He was almost sympathetic to the panic that clawed its way up his past self’s throat, an echo of the terror he’d felt in the moment. That had been the moment he was trying to save Bucky from. What a fool he had been 

There was that high pitched squeal Steve would still be hearing in his nightmares seventy years later. Right this second, it was new, and Steve’s body turned to face it. This was the beginning. The end. The precipice of something. It would be the demise of the Bucky he’d known. He dodged the laser the soldier fired at him, dreading the seconds counting down, while his past self found comfort in the telltale gunfire on the other side of the door. 

It was so strange, the things that stood out and made the moment real. He grabbed the rigging overhead, steel bars so solid in his hands, even though the moment was ancient history. Swinging forward along the length of the train car with all the force he could muster, he crashed into the Hydra soldier, feet flat against their chest. They went sprawling and the laser with them. He felt the forceful thrust of his shoulder swinging forward. The shield connected with the Hydra agent’s helmet with a metallic thud that should have been so satisfying, but wasn’t really satisfying at all. 

Not enough. It was never going to be enough.Steve’s body kept going without him, and maybe that was for the best. Distantly, he could hear the slower tempo as Bucky switched out for a handgun. The end was looming, and Steve could have cried, but his eyes were no more his than anything else. His feet and hands went on without him, past self stooping to fire the laser at the door. 

Bucky fired on the other side of the door. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. The laser went off with an electronic sort of whine, he knew now would break the locking mechanism that kept them separated. There was machine gun fire and Bucky’s handgun, racing towards empty as Steve ran back towards the car he was trapped in. 

Through the glass window, Steve could see Bucky, firing off his last two rounds and then coming up empty. Steve briefly pulled back and grabbed for his own weapon, because as soon as he opened the door, that machine gun fire was liable to be on him. It didn’t help anything that Steve could still remember all his reasoning, but there it was, running like ticker tape across the back of his mind. 

When Steve looked back, Bucky crouched behind some shipping crates. His back was pressed to the wall of the train, and Steve was sure his past self hadn’t noticed the heavy rise and fall of Bucky’s chest, even through the blue jacket that covered it. He noticed now, though. The end was approaching, and memorizing the details was all Steve had left. Surely, he owed them that much. 

They’d worked so beautifully together, right up until the end. Steve opened the door, tossing Bucky his gun, and went charging in. His shield collided with one of the crates, sending it sailing into the Hydra gunman. It was all the opening Bucky needed, one efficiently clean shot and the car went silent. 

“I had him on the ropes,” Bucky insisted. He had no idea what was coming, and if Steve couldn’t stop it, he’d have ripped his own heart out for the chance to just… just touch Bucky one last time. 

There were so many things he ought to have said back then, while his heart was still racing and he thought the worst was over. It wasn’t over. It wasn’t over. He’d have clawed at the confines of his own body if he’d had the limbs to do so. They were right there, at the end of the line. He should have said something important instead of, “I know you did.”

There it was again, the screech that meant an end to the paradox they’d cobbled together. His past self turned his head just in time to see the laser fire. No matter how many times they did this, he was never going to know how few seconds were left. The minute motion that had changed their history never happened, though Steve crumpled within his own mind. One arm hefted the shield and the other pushed Bucky where he must have thought was out of harm’s way. “Get down!”

The laser careened against the shield, blowing a hole in the side of the train car and sending Steve flying. He should have held on. If only he’d held _on_. But there was no time left for if onlys. His body landed in the corner, and there went Bucky, picking up his shield. Steve screamed, but no sound came out. 

It was both seconds and an eternity to suffer through this again. Bucky scooped up the shield and fired once. Twice. He had never had a chance. The Hydra soldier shot back, and Steve’s body ran to grab the shield, flinging it at the enemy. 

“Bucky!” He was clinging to the place where the side of the train was torn open, and for the first time, the emotions of his current and past selves matched. Terror gripped him as he watched Bucky hang there, knowing that this end was inevitable. There was no stopping it. 

It didn’t matter what he shouted over the roar or the wind and the rush of the train down the tracks. It didn’t matter how quickly he inched along the wreckage to reach Bucky. As fast as he moved, it wouldn’t be fast enough. He’d undone the paradox seconds before. Did he have to watch this still?

There was no shutting it out. Where his past self looked, Steve saw, and Captain America was watching Bucky cling to the broken railing of the train car for dear life. He reached as far as he could, but it was never going to be enough. “Grab my hand!”

There was a sickening creak as Bucky reached for him, their fingers close but never touching. The railing gave with a squeal, and Steve silently wailed at the loss. It was voiceless but deafening in the prison of his own mind, only to be drowned out by Bucky screaming. 

Bucky fell, down, down, down, Steve’s eyes locked on the body as it disappeared in the mountains and snow. Icy cold air whipped around Steve’s body, and the train kept on, carrying him so far away. 

“Steve.” Bucky’s voice was distant, trapped under water. Time was slipping again, Steve was sure. He couldn’t close the gap though, too caught up in the moment. 

“Steve. _Please_.” It was over, and even muffled as it was, Steve could hear the agony in Bucky’s voice. The paradox had righted itself. James was probably gone, and Bucky was alone back there in the lab. 

Alone. Steve was alone too. His past self buried his face against the side of the train. The metal against his bare skin was painfully cold, but Steve didn’t notice any more than he noticed the tears freezing to his cheeks. 

“Come on. Come home. You gotta come home now.”

His past self choked on a breath, clinging to the train car, but his eyes were closed. There was nothing behind them, just as there’d been nothing behind them in the beginning. The whole of his existence seemed to sway. 

“Please. Don’t leave me with this.” Flesh and metal hands cupped his cheeks, at odds with the ice and the frigid air that swept around him. 

He was on the train. He was was in the lab. Bucky was there and gone. Reality crumbled, bit by bit and then all at once. The light snuffed out entirely, finally silencing Steve’s grief.


	11. Chapter 11

Morning was just making its way back into the world, and Steve meant to fight it off for as long as he could. He hid in the blankets and pressed backwards until his back was flush with Bucky’s chest. It worked better this way. Bucky always had his back, and long strands of hair didn’t get stuck in his nose. A metal arm curled around his flank, and somehow it was never as uncomfortable as it should have been. Steve took comfort in the soft, sleepy huff behind him, and a scruffy cheek pressed to his shoulder. 

He smiled fondly as metal fingers splayed across his belly, an absent motion without any real motive. They were good like this, the three of them. Steve never wanted to get out of bed again. Sleepily, he reached to drag James closer, confusion creeping in when he came up empty.

The blaring of his alarm jarred him from the peace and quiet before he could fully register what was happening. Bucky pressed closer, face prickly against Steve’s skin as he made a comical attempt to hide from the noise. “C’mon Steve. It’s _Saturday_.”

He’d heard that before somewhere, if he could just place it. It felt awful and important and he couldn’t _remember_. Alarmed, and unsure of why, Steve rolled onto his back to look at Bucky. “It’s not Saturday.”

Bucky peered down at him, a grumpy little frown curling on his lips. It was annoyance at Steve pulling away, or maybe just concern. Bucky was looking at him though, scruffy and sleep mussed and… alone. He huffed out some semblance of complaint. “It’s definitely Saturday.”

_One of these days, I’m gonna break that thing_. Those were the words that should have come next. Only they never came, because James wasn’t there to say them. Steve knew that better than anyone. 

“But not _this_ Saturday,” Steve protested. His head was muzzy and full of cotton. He felt tethered to a nightmare, as if the tendrils of horrified realization were sheets caught around his limbs.

“It’s definitely this Saturday.” Oblivious to the dread that crawled along Steve’s nerves, Bucky pressed closer. He was all lazy caresses and chaste, sleepy kisses. “Christ, Steve. What other day would it be? Go back to sleep, you goon.”

Awareness settled in, each gnawing, persistent truth more awful than the last. It had worked. He’d known it would, but now it was real. He’d traded their future with James to save the world, but the universe hadn’t just taken their future. It had taken all of it, dropping them at the moment this had all begun. His voice came out in an awful croak, “But James…”

“Call me that again and I’m smothering you with a pillow,” Bucky teased, fingers straying tenderly along Steve’s thigh and hip. “Shut up and go back to _sleep._ ”

Bucky didn’t even realize. Steve still remembered Bucky, red eyed and grieving in the last moments before the machine had whisked the paradox away. A chunk of their lives had gone missing, and only Steve knew. 

“You don’t remember, do you?” Steve breathed out, already knowing the answer. 

“Which part?” Bucky mumbled, pressing his nose to the nape of Steve’s neck. “You breaking Tony’s machine or me having to cart you all the way back here?”

“The part that came after all that.” Steve rolled over to face Bucky, willing him to remember _something_.

“Steve. Are you okay?” Bucky opened his eyes, the edges of them crinkled with concern. “This _is_ the part that came after.”

“It’s not, Bucky. It’s _not_.” Steve insisted, desperate for Bucky to remember. “I changed the timeline, and they were both stuck in my head. There were two of you. For _months_ , there were two of you here, and-”

“Hey, slow down. Just… just take a breath, alright? That must have been a hell of a dream, but it was a dream.” Bucky smiled, crooked and terribly fond despite the worry that tinged the edges. “You couldn’t change anything, remember? You were just a passenger.”

“Except I did. I know how this sounds.” Steve sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face. Bucky couldn’t remember and Steve had no idea how to reach him. “I didn’t dream this.”

Bucky had clearly also given up on the idea of going back to sleep. He pushed himself to sit, expression scrunched in concentration. “Okay. Okay. Just… start at the beginning.”

“You don’t believe me.” Steve shoved away his own despair, and the words came out flat. 

“I didn’t say that,” Bucky protested, laying a hand on Steve’s arm. “But… I don’t feel the way I did when Hydra scrambled my head, and it’s not that I think you’re…”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. Of course. Bucky, more than anyone, would have good reason to be skeptical. “God, Buck. I wouldn’t do that to you. You _have_ to know I wouldn’t do that to you.” 

Bucky met his eyes, and for a long, awful moment, Steve wasn’t sure what he was seeing there. The muscle in Bucky’s jaw clenched and unclenched, and Steve swallowed. He’d lost one person this morning. If he lost Bucky’s trust while he was at it… Bucky didn’t confirm those fears though. His mouth screwed up, and when he spoke again, it was heartbreakingly reasonable. “Of course I don’t think that. I’m just trying to say that you have to help me make sense of it. If I were telling you you were missing _months_ that sound like they couldn’t have happened, you’d be asking for an explanation too.”

Bucky wasn’t wrong. Steve wasn’t sure how he’d have taken the news if their positions were reversed. _Breathe_ , he told himself. Breathe and start at the beginning.

“I went back to the train,” he blurted out. Not a strong start, judging from the way Bucky’s expression screwed up, mouth twisting off to one side. 

“The hell would you want to torture yourself with that for?” Bucky asked finally. His tone had softened, and if he didn’t believe Steve just yet, at least he was listening. 

Why had he? It felt so long ago. The whole world had changed in between, and the why of it hadn’t mattered in months. Going back there had seemed so _reasonable_ at the time, though. “Because I know what Tony’s asking of you with that machine, and if I was going to help you, I had no right giving less and thinking I knew what it was like.”

A frown pulled at Bucky’s mouth. “All the absolute shit things that have happened in the last hundred years and _that’s_ the one you decide to go back to?”

Steve sucked in a breath. “It was the worst moment of my life. I spent so much time picking apart the ways it could’ve been different.”

Abruptly, Bucky’s eyes narrowed. He’d pulled away from Steve at some point, mismatched hands clasped in his lap. “So you just took it upon yourself to _make_ it different? Did you even think about the ramifications or did you just go charging in? Nevermind. Don’t answer that.”

“I didn’t think I could even do it. It all happened so fast, and then of _course_ I thought about it. I thought, whatever else, at least you’d get your life back,” Steve scrambled to explain. It had been right. He’d been so _sure_ in the moment that the cost was worth the benefit. Of all the things he had to be sorry for, wanting to help wasn’t one that had occurred to him. 

Bucky stared at him, lips parted on something that wouldn’t come. The quiet gnawed like rats at Steve’s stomach as he waited. When Bucky spoke, the whisper of it tore right through Steve. “What about the life I _have_? Is that not good enough?”

“Of course it is, but you didn’t deserve what Hydra put you through.” Steve swallowed, realizing only now how that had to sound. 

Knowing, didn’t lessen the blow as Bucky pressed. Whatever Steve had expected, it wasn’t the pained expression that drew Bucky’s facial features. “Do you think I need fixing that badly?”

“No, Buck. I don’t think that.” Steve reached out, covering Bucky’s hands with his. “I failed you once. I just thought… I thought maybe I didn’t have to do it again.”

Bucky didn’t look at him. Behind the disheveled fall of Bucky’s hair, it was hard to see his expression. Steve’s heart beat in a sickly, frenetic rhythm, waiting for… for what? Absolution? Bucky didn’t owe him that, and didn’t give it. “So you said you changed it. Did it work?”

_That timeline didn’t exist until you got the urge to play god._

“No. Sort of.” Steve took a second to breathe. Better to detach himself from all of this, because it only hurt more from here. “It didn’t change the time line. It made a new one.”

For better or worse, Bucky nodded. His expression was less shuttered than it had been. “That’s how you got two of me.”

“Yeah. It was like I had lived the last seventy years twice, and both versions were stuck in my head, but there were two of you. The other one got pulled out of his timeline, and we all woke up here. Today.” It sounded ridiculous when he put a voice to it. It was hard to believe it wasn’t all in his head as reality reasserted itself. How could he possibly expect Bucky to believe him? 

Bucky stared down at their hands, lips pressed into a thin, tense line. Steve had no idea how much time passed before Bucky finally broke the silence. “What was he like?”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up. “You believe me?”

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe. I believe _you_ believe it.”

It was a start, and Steve clung to that for all it was worth. “James was-”

“James? You can’t really mean some version of me agreed to be called that,” Bucky grumbled, but his tone had softened, curiosity winning out over disbelief. 

Steve smiled. He could still remember that particular struggle, back when the paradox had been fresh and terrible for all of them. “I couldn’t very well call you both Bucky.”

Bucky thumbed idly at Steve’s hand, though it didn’t seem to be a conscious action. “What was he like?”

“James was a lot like you,” Steve admitted, forging ahead despite the way Bucky’s face screwed up. “And he wasn’t like you at all.”

“Just because you’re talking about a paradox doesn’t mean you have to speak in one,” Bucky complained. There was a wariness to his expression that ached in the middle of Steve’s chest. He probably had it coming though, all things considered. 

“It’s not though. It was hard to tell you apart sometimes without looking, but you weren’t the _same_. Not really,” Steve insisted. “Bucky, I thought it was just going to be something we had to survive, but we were happy. All of us, I think.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, searching Steve’s expression for any sign of deception, but of course there was none to find. Steve watched Bucky’s chest rise and fall on a heavy sigh. “Was it worth it? Was he better?”

“No. Bucky, no. It was never about having someone better.” Steve buried his face in his hands. In the end, he’d fixed nothing. All he’d managed was heartache. “I thought I could help you, but it all went wrong.”

“Steve. There’s nothing to help. You’re here. I’m here.” Bucky’s flesh and blood fingers curled around one of his wrists, giving it a tug. 

“You fell because you were following me,” Steve muttered, letting Bucky pull his hand free. 

“Yeah. I did, but you don’t own that.” Bucky pulled his other wrist free and nudged at Steve’s chin until their eyes met. “You never did.”

They sat there for a while, in a silence born of a chasm neither one of them knew how to cross. Steve hadn’t even told Bucky about the three of them, not really. How was he supposed to articulate what James was to Bucky when Bucky didn’t even remember who he was?

They might have sat there forever if Bucky hadn’t shooed Steve out of bed to go shower. Despite everything Steve had just dumped on him, Bucky smiled, fond and sympathetic as he stopped in the doorway. “Maybe this will look a little less dismal after coffee.”

xxxxxxx

Bucky checked his phone for what must have been the twentieth time, but the date hadn’t changed. Nothing, as far as he could tell, had changed. 

His knee jerk reaction had been to assume Steve’s explanation couldn’t be true, only Steve had never been prone to that sort of story telling. Wherever the truth lay, it’ was heartbreakingly clear that _Steve_ believed in it… and Bucky believed in Steve. That was reason enough to give him pause, no matter what he did or didn’t remember. After all, their lives had been a series of impossible truths. Was this really the strangest thing that could happen to them?

Believing or not didn’t solve anything. Steve was grieving a loved one Bucky didn’t even remember. Every word Steve had told him could be true, and Bucky still couldn’t give him the validation he probably desperately needed. 

There wasn’t enough coffee in the world for this, but Bucky needed something. He crawled out from under the covers, listening to the spray of the shower. Staring at the bed, he tried to picture what it would have been like with three of them, but all he came up with was empty sheets. 

Shaking his head, Bucky padded out to the kitchen to start the coffee pot. It was muscle memory by now, and Bucky went through the motions without much thought. His mind was elsewhere as he scooped coffee into the filter and filled the water reservoir, but they did this every morning. Bucky didn’t need to be focused to turn on the machine or to pull mugs from the cabinet. 

Ceramic clinked against the counter top, once, twice, three times. Bucky stared at the mugs, his hand still wrapped around the handle of the third one. Strange. This had been part of his routine for ages, and he’d never done that. It didn’t _mean_ anything, of course, but it unsettled him just the same. 

Bucky chalked it up to a history of having his memories pulled from him. The fear of losing his mind was always there, just at the periphery, so maybe it had him looking for evidence of something that simply wasn't there. Of course, that was all the more reason, Steve couldn't possibly be lying to him. 

"Buck?" Steve's voice startled Bucky out of his thoughts. He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, staring at the mugs on the counter, but the coffee pot was full. "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine." Bucky forced a smile, even though the world was upended. In the weeks after he’d escaped Hydra, Bucky never found much correlation between the things he did and the memories that came back to him. His old life had returned in fragments, isolated moments that felt like snap shots of another person’s life. He didn’t hold out much hope that this would be any different. Maybe it would never come back to him at all, and he wasn’t about to give Steve false hope over an extra coffee mug. 

He couldn’t commiserate with Steve, but he could distract, couldn’t he? He poured coffee, pressing one of the mugs into Steve’s hands. The lost expression on Steve’s face broke his heart, but Bucky pressed on. He knew what that was like, after all, for the world to be too much, so Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm to tug him towards the couch, and pretended it had nothing to do with his lover’s obvious distress. “C’mon.”

“I was going to go for a run,” Steve protested, though there was about as much force behind it as an empty balloon. 

“With coffee?” Bucky needled. Steve relented with a sigh, letting Bucky drag him to the living room.

Bucky leaned against Steve as they sat on the couch. There was solace in this, he hoped, the two of them sheltering from the world in a way that was perfectly familiar. Bucky had his nose buried in a book, and in the background, he could hear the rustle of pages as Steve flipped through his sketchbook. Surreptitiously, he glanced over to see what Steve was looking at, but each page was blank. 

“It’s all gone. I guess I thought maybe there’d be something left,” Steve admitted, fingers brushing over an empty sheet. 

“Of him?” Something pulled at Bucky’s chest. It wasn’t precisely jealousy, but it ached. 

“No…” Steve shook his head, and when Bucky curled an arm around his shoulders, he didn’t move. “Of us. Most of this was full of pictures of the two of you.”

“You sap.” Bucky rested his jaw against Steve’s shoulder, grasping for something. Had he and James really been so close? “Of course there’s something left.”

Steve’s jaw worked as he turned his head to look at Bucky. “How do you mean? He’s gone, Buck. I’m the only one that even remembers him.”

Bucky smiled, even though it hurt. “Maybe that’s enough. When has not being able to see someone ever stopped you from putting them on paper? Draw what you remember.”

Steve licked his lips and looked very much like he meant to protest. No words came though. Concession came in the soft scratching of graphite against a thick page of his drawing pad. For a little while, it was the only break in the silence between them. 

Bucky was so acutely aware, that he heard the moment Steve’s pencil stilled against the paper. It was an active effort not to look over right away. Only when he felt Steve sit up a little straighter did he lower his book to ask, “Can I see it?

Wordlessly, Steve tipped the page Bucky’s way. There they were, the two of them, sprawled out together on the couch. Bucky’s head was tucked against James neck, and they looked more at peace than Bucky could remember having felt in a long time. It should have been strange, shouldn’t it?

_The rain fell in sheets against the glass, but even just outside their apartment, it seemed so far away._

“You’re crying,” Steve whispered, like he was afraid of drawing attention to it. 

Was he? The picture didn’t mean anything to him. He swore it didn’t, but when he brought his fingers to his face, they came away wet. Grief welled up, threatening to stop up his throat, but there was no memory attached, nothing to give it meaning or hold it in check. Bucky’s breath caught twice before he managed to get out anything at all. He meant to tell Steve he didn’t know what was wrong, but all that came out was a question. “Why did you draw us like that?”

Steve gave him a sad, lopsided sort of smile, arms curling around Bucky’s frame. “You said to draw what I remembered.”

xxx

Their apartment had taken to feeling like those moments on either side of a storm, where the light was sallow, and the quiet had a note of devastation to it. Bucky couldn’t remember, and Steve couldn’t forget. The weight of it threatened to crush them both. 

That first day had been so promising, Bucky had almost let him think it would come back if he just wanted it to enough. The only assurance Bucky had that anything was missing though, was Steve’s insistence, which was utterly inconsistent with what his own mind told him. 

A day became two and then three. Before Bucky knew it, a week had passed. Steve was still wrapped up in grief Bucky didn’t know quite how to parse, but sometimes, in the middle of the night, he found himself reaching for the empty place in the bedding. 

Two weeks in, Steve dragged Bucky to the Cloisters. It was lovely and serene, and they’d found sanctuary here so many times that Bucky immediately relaxed. The feeling couldn’t last though, not with Steve’s furtively sad looks. They left Bucky feeling like he was missing something glaringly important. They were standing in a quiet corner of one of the courtyards by the time he finally wrenched an explanation from Steve. 

It had been one of the first places they’d gone together, Steve insisted, as if James might jump out in Bucky’s mind’s eye if he just looked hard enough. Bucky didn’t have the heart to point out that maybe there was nothing to recover. He looked, but there were no memories to be found among the echoing hallways and quiet rooms. 

One could never have said that Steve was quick to give up, however, and Bucky followed the way he always did. He allowed Steve to drag him from place to place for as long as he could justify it. They were standing in the lobby of some diner called MacDonough’s for the third time in five days when Bucky finally decided it had to stop. 

“Look… I think we’re just dragging out the inevitable here,” Bucky murmured as they sat on opposite sides of a table by the window. Faced with the heartbroken look Steve gave him, he’d have given anything to take it back. 

“Maybe we’re missing something. Maybe _I’m_ missing something,” Steve protested. Bucky yearned to believe that, but they couldn’t keep going like this. 

“I don’t think so, Steve. You said yourself that time was _undone_.” Bucky took a breath and forced himself to finish. “Maybe I can’t remember because for me, it… it never happened.”

Whatever argument Bucky expected never came. As abruptly as the whole thing had begun, Steve was completely and utterly silent on the matter. There were no more excursions to places Steve was adamant they’d been together, no more questions about whether Bucky remembered something _now_. Mostly, that was the end of it. 

Only it couldn’t be, not really. Bucky had never been alright with leaving Steve alone with anything in his life. This was a completely terrible place to start, so Bucky kept trying in quieter ways that, at least, wouldn’t keep pulling Steve into it. 

It must have been the hundredth time he’d looked at that drawing pad, but it meant no more to him than it ever did. There were pages full of moments Steve had given such detail to they had to be real, but they meant no more to Bucky now than they ever had before. At least Steve wasn’t there this time. Bucky wasn’t sure he could take another one of those sorrowful looks as he tried to grasp something that didn’t just wasn’t there. 

Busy as he’d been as of late, it was nice getting a minute to breathe. Bucky sprawled out on the couch, setting Steve’s notebook aside as he settled into the cushions, embracing the moment. It was too dark to see anything anyway, the only light the flickering of the television as Bucky scrolled through movies for something to watch. 

_Bucky’s eyes weren’t on the movie at all. They kept flicking to James’ face, lit only by the television. Even in the shadows and inconsistent light, he was so expressive._

Bucky’s brows furrowed. For a second, just a second, he could have sworn… Taking a breath, Bucky shook the strange feeling off. Some days were just like that, like there was a phantom somewhere in the back of his mind that kept making him pull down extra coffee mugs for someone he couldn’t even recall. 

Pushing the mockery of a memory out of his head, Bucky picked a movie at random. All he needed was something to focus on. 

Battlefield Earth was a legitimately terrible movie. Twenty minutes in, he had nearly given up and turned the damned thing off. He wasn’t even sure it qualified as one of those ‘so bad they’re good’ sorts of movies Bucky wasted time with some nights. It sailed right on past that into ‘awful and some explosions’ territory. 

_Bucky huffed out a sigh and threw another piece of popcorn at James. “It’s a_ genre _.”_

_“No,” James retorted, movie forgotten as he turned more towards Bucky. He swiped a handful of popcorn before he finished. “I mean maybe, but only if the genre is ‘movies so bad you want a refund on the time you wasted watching them’.”_

Bucky’s breath hissed through his teeth. That wasn’t real. That couldn’t be real because there was nothing there for him to _remember_. Wincing, Bucky realized he’d gripped the remote nearly hard enough to crack the plastic. It creaked under his fingers. Impulsively, he let go and it clattered to the ground. 

It was just a bad movie. Bucky was tired and grasping at straws. It was the only explanation he’d accept because he’d tried to remember. He had. Worse than that, Bucky wasn’t sure he could take the limbo that came with fragments of memories. They ached worse than the emptiness ever did. 

Sleep was probably in order. Bucky leaned over to pick up the remote, breath catching in his throat. He paused, lost in his thoughts, his fingers poised a few inches above the controller, never quite reaching it.

_“I’ll show you more effective.” Impulsively, Bucky upended the entire bowl over James’ head._

_For a second, the only response Bucky got was James sitting on the couch, wide eyed with surprise. The effect was only magnified by the flickering of the television. James mouth twitched once, and then twice and then he was laughing, teeth dragging across his bottom lip._

_Bucky couldn’t help but laugh along. “Steve is going to kill us.”_

_“Well, we clearly just need a better excuse for why there’s popcorn all over the floor,” James suggested, dusting a few of the kernels out of his hair._

_“We could always just pick it up,” Bucky ventured, smiling a little at the utterly horrified look he got from James in response._

_“Absolutely not. That’s boring.” James nudged at the overturned bowl where it had landed on the carpet._

Bucky’s breath let out in a sob, another one following on its tail. This was _ridiculous_. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real because he had run himself ragged trying to remember, and he couldn’t make do with bits and pieces. That wasn’t enough.

If he closed his eyes, he could still remember the scattered kernels across the floor in front of the couch. How they lay with the blanket draped haphazardly over the both of them, James sprawled on top of him like a wet noodle. There was still butter in James’ hair, tucked under Bucky’s chin, but that was alright. It was nothing that wouldn’t wash off later. 

Urgently, Bucky reached for the drawing pad, praying that this was a dam breaking and not a window into something he’d never get back. Forgetting the movie, forgetting even to turn on the light, Bucky flipped through the pages, grasping at moments he couldn’t quite recall. 

There they were, page after page. They were shoulder to shoulder at the Cloisters. They sat across a restaurant booth, laughing at something. They slept tangled up together, a mess of limbs and sheets and James’ head nestled in the crook of Bucky’s shoulder. It was pretty to look at, but they were just pictures. 

“No. No no no,” Bucky mumbled, turning faster, reaching for something, anything to flesh out the life that existed around the moment that had made its way back to him. “ _Please_.”

On the last page, the world went still and Bucky forgot to breathe. 

_“I…” Bucky started, voice thick and wavering, lost even though they were utterly out of time. James’ mouth found his, more desperate than practiced, but Bucky memorized the shape of James’ mouth against his, and the weight of James’ fingertips down the divot of his spine._

“I…” Bucky gasped, squeezing his eyes shut as the feeling crept back in, emotion settling into place even if he couldn’t quite recall the details. There was a hole in his heart and he hadn’t even known. 

_Light flickered viciously around them, and James withdrew. Before Bucky could complain, James was nuzzling against the space beneath his ear to whisper, “You’re not what you think you are. I just need you to remember that when I’m not here to remind you.”_

Bucky buried his face in his hands and sobbed, shoulders shaking out the bits and pieces with his sorrow. 

“I remember you,” he whispered, shaky and grieving. “I remember you.”

xxxxxxxxx

A month passed, and then another, and agony receded, into something soft and bittersweet. 

Central Park was beautiful, but never quite so much as at the beginning of summer. The tail end of June was green and lush, and the rain the day before left even the air smelling clean. The park wasn’t empty by any stretch of the imagination, but leaning over the cement railing of the Bow Bridge, the world narrowed to Bucky’s hand in his and the water that rushed beneath their feet. 

“He’d have hated this,” Bucky murmured, meeting Steve’s eyes with a rueful smile. 

“Almost as much as the Cloisters,” Steve agreed. The agony this conversation would have conjured up not so long ago had dulled with the passage of time, leaving a dull, aching sort of nostalgia in its place. 

They crossed the bridge, following the path to a familiar cluster of trees. Steve still knew this place, innocuous, but oddly important. There were no leaves on the magnolias, but pink blossoms laced the branches, delicate petals blanketing the ground at the base of the tree. 

Bucky let go of Steve’s hand, making a beeline for the trunk where their names were carved. Steve watched him drag his fingers slowly over the bark, brows furrowed in concentration. 

“That first day, when James left. This is where I found him,” Steve said, reaching to check that the ground was dry enough to sit on. He slumped down at the base of the tree, arms resting on his knees. 

“Yeah?” Bucky was still staring at the place where their names were scrawled, as if something might change if he just looked for long enough. 

“Yeah.” Steve leaned back against the tree, tilting his head up to look at Bucky. “He said it was the only place that felt like he was home.”

Bucky smiled, pulling a knife from whatever pocket he’d had it secreted away in. “Maybe the universe knew something we didn’t.”

Steve didn’t ask Bucky what he was carving into the trunk of the tree. He didn’t need to. Closing his eyes, Steve breathed in the warm breeze that ruffled the grass and scattered magnolia petals. “Even if no one else remembers…”

Bucky hummed, flopping down on the grass beside Steve. It was sad and it was lovely, Bucky pocketing his knife and pressing against Steve’s side. They missed James. It was a mostly unspoken understanding that they held delicately between them. Steve’s sketch books were still full of two versions of James Buchanan Barnes, and some mornings, Bucky still reached for someone in the empty spaces of their bed. The sorrow faded, but it never disappeared entirely. 

The sun was low in the sky by the time either of them got around to saying much of anything. The air was turning cooler, the once blue sky blushing red and violet across the horizon. Bucky tucked himself a little closer into Steve’s embrace, his voice hushed in the scant space between them. “Do you think they made it home?”

Steve understood what Bucky was really asking. It was a question that haunted Steve all the time. Without the paradox, was there a home to go back to? 

There were no certainties. Steve knew that. Only sitting here, at the base of that tree, was the closest he’d felt to James in months. He turned his head to kiss Bucky’s temple. “You know what? I think they did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is the spoiler version of the author's notes. James disappears in the end. He's not dead (which is why I didn't tag for MCD), but it appears that he may be to Steve and Bucky. The sequel will address all of this, but the ending to this particular story is pretty ambiguous, so if tragedy is not your cup of tea, you may want to hold off.

**Author's Note:**

> As a head's up, there is a sequel coming in the near future! Steve, Bucky, (and James!) will be returning in **The Things That Bloom In Empty Spaces**.
> 
> You can find us as [Riakomai](http://riakomai.tumblr.com/), [Hopeless--Geek](https://hopelessartgeek.tumblr.com), and [DrowningByDegrees](http://drowningbydegrees.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!


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